f  dENTtJRY  HISTOBICALMAIEES] 


THE 
WARD 

(YEMENI 


THE  WESTWARD    MOVEMENT 


CENTURY  READINGS 

IN 
UNITED     STATES     HISTORY 

A  series,  made  up  from  the  best  on  this  subject 
in  THE  CENTURY  and  ST.  NICHOLAS,  for  students 
of  the  upper  grammar  grades  and  the  first  year 
high  school.  Profusely  illustrated. 

EXPLORERS  and  SETTLERS 

THE  COLONISTS  AND  THE  REVOLUTION 

A  NEW  NATION 

THE  WESTWARD  MOVEMENT 

THE  CIVIL  WAR 

THE   PROGRESS   OF  A   UNITED   PEOPLE 

12mo.         About  225  pages   each. 

D.  APPLETON-CENTURY  CO. 


From  the  eculpture  by  Frederick  M»c  Monnte«. 

Kit  Carson,  the  Pioneer. 
See  pages  173  and  174. 


CENTURY    READINGS    IN    UNITED    STATES    HISTORY 

THE 
WESTWARD   MOVEMENT 


EDITED  BY 

CHARLES  L.  BARSTOW 
i\ 


D.  APPLETON-CENTURY  COMPANY 

INCORPORATED 

New  York  London 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY  THE  CENTURY  CO. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THE 
RIGHT  TO  REPRODUCE  THIS  BOOK,  OR 
PORTIONS  THEREOF,  IN  ANY  FORM.  326 


PRINTED      IN      U.      S.      A. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

BEGINNINGS  OF  THE  WESTWARD  MOVEMENT,  5*.  E.  Fort/nan  ...      3 

THE  SETTLEMENT  OF  THE  WEST  .     Emerson  Hough 14 

THE  PONY  EXPRESS W.  F.  Bailey 46 

EARLY  WESTERN  STEAMBOATING  .  Archer  B.  Hulbert  ....  56 
GEORGE  ROGERS  CLARK  .  .  .  .  Theodore  Roosevelt  .  .  .  .  61 
BOONE'S  WILDERNESS  ROAD  .  .  Archer  B.  Hulbert  ....  69 

DANIEL  BOONE Theodore  Roosevelt  ....     75 

PIONEER  FARMING Morris  Birkbeck 82 

A  PIONEER  BOYHOOD      ....     James  B,  Pond 88 

"  THE  PLAINS  ACROSS  "...     Noah  Brooks 103 

THE  FIRST  EMIGRANT  TRAIN  TO  CALIFORNIA,  John  Bidwell  .     .     .119 

RESUME  OF  FREMONT'S  EXPEDITIONS,  M .  N.  0 140 

ROUGH  TIMES  IN  ROUGH  PLACES    C.  G.  McGehee 151 

KIT  CARSON Charles  M.  Harvey    .     .     .     .163 

THE  MACMONNIES  PIONEER  MONUMENT  FOR  DENVER 173 

THE  DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD  IN  CALIFORNIA,  John  S.  Hittell  .     .     .     .175 

PIONEER  MINING E.  G.  Waife      .     .     .     .     .     .192 

THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST      .     .     .     E.  V.  Smalley  ......  199 

THE  GREAT  SOUTHWEST      .     .     .     Ray  S.  Baker  .     .     .     .     .     .214 

THE  DESERT Ray  S.  Baker 223 


Acknowledgment  is  made  of  the  courtesy  of  Archer  B.  Hulbert  in  granting  per- 
mission to  use  the  articles  on  "  Early  Western  Steamboating,"  and  "  Boone's  Wil- 
derness Road,"  from  his  book  "  Historic  Highways." 


M54088 


THE  WESTWARD  MOVEMENT 


PEOPLING  THE  WEST 

From  Europe's  proud,  despotic  shores 
Hither  the  stranger  takes  his  way, 
And  in  our  new-found  world  explores 
A  happier  soil,  a  milder  sway, 
Where  no  proud  despot  holds  him  down, 
No  slaves  insult  him  with  a  crown. 

From  these  fair  plains,  these  rural  seats, 
So  long  concealed,  so  lately  known, 
The  unsocial  Indian  far  retreats, 
To  make  some  other  clime  his  own, 
Where  other  streams,  less  pleasing,  flow, 
And  darker  forests  round  him  grow. 

No  longer  shall  your  princely  flood 
From  distant  lakes  be  swelled  in  vain, 
No  longer  through  a  darksome  wood 
Advance  unnoticed  to  the  main; 
Far  other  ends  the  heavens  decree  — 
And  commerce  plans  new  freights  for  thee. 

While  virtue  warms  the  generous  breast, 
There  heaven-born  freedom  shall  reside, 
Nor  shall  the  voice  of  war  molest, 
Nor  Europe's  all-aspiring  pride  — 
There  Reason  shall  new  laws  devise, 
And  order  from  confusion  rise. 

PHILIP  FRENEAU. 


THE  WESTWARD   MOVEMENT 

BEGINNINGS  OF  THE  WESTWARD  MOVEMENT 
BY  S.  E.  FORMAN 

In  1636  Thomas  Hooker,  the  pastor  of  the  church  at 
Newton  (now  Cambridge),  moved  with  his  entire  con- 
gregation to  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut  and  founded  the 
city  of  Hartford.  Hooker  did  not  like  the  way  the  Puri- 
tans acted  in  matters  of  government.  He  thought  religious 
affairs  and  state  affairs  in  the  Massachusetts  Bay  Colony 
were  bound  too  closely  together.  He  thought  also  that  more 
people  ought  to  be  allowed  to  vote  than  were  allowed  that 
privilege  in  the  Puritan  colony.  Besides,  was  not  the  rich 
valley  of  the  Connecticut  a  better  place  for  homes  than  the 
rocky  and  barren  hills  around  Boston?  Hooker  and  his 
followers  took  their  wives  and  children  with  them.  They 
carried  their  household  goods  along  and  drove  their  cattle 
before  them.  As  they  moved  overland  through  the  road- 
less forests  of  Massachusetts,  they  took  the  first  step  in 
that  great  Westward  Movement  which  continued  for  more 
than  two  hundred  years  and  which  did  not  come  to  an  end 
until  the  far-off  Pacific  was  reached. 

At  the  opening  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  almost  every 
colony  there  were  great  areas  of  vacant  land,  and  colonial 
growth  for  many  years  consisted  mainly  in  bringing  these 
lands  under  cultivation  and  filling  them  with  people.  This 
development  necessarily  took  a  westward  course,  for  if 

3 


4  The  Westward  Movement 

the  English  colonists  went  far  to  the  north  they  met  the 
French,  and  if  they  went  far  to  the  south  they  met  the 
Spanish.  In  New  York  the  Westward  Movement  between 
1700  and  1740  was  very  slow,  because  the  progress  of  the 
English  was  opposed  not  only  by  the  French,  but  also  by 
powerful  tribes  of  Iroquois  Indians.  But  in  the  west- 


Savannah  in  1741. 

ern  part  of  Pennsylvania,  Virginia,  and  North  Carolina 
the  Indians  were  less  troublesome  and  there  wrere  as  yet 
no  French  at  all.  So  it  was  from  Pennsylvania  and  from 
the  southern  colonies  that  the  settlers  first  began  to  move 
in  considerable  numbers  toward  the  West. 

The  first  important  westward  movement  of  population 
began  with  the  settlement  of  the  beautiful  valley  which 
lies  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  Alleghany  Mountains 
and  which  is  drained  by  the  Shenandoah  River.  In  1716 
Governor  Spotswood  of  Virginia,  with  fifty  companions, 
entered  this  valley  near  the  present  site  of  Port  Republic, 
and  with  much  ceremony  took  possession  of  the  region  in 


Beginnings  of  the  Movement  5 

the  name  of  King  George  of  England.  His  purpose  in 
pushing  out  into  the  valley  was  to  head  off  the  French, 
who  at  the  time  had  already  taken  possession  of  the  country 
west  of  the  Alleghanies  and  were  pushing  east  as  fast  as 
they  dared. 

Soon  after  the  expedition  of  Spotswood  the  settlement 
of  the  Shenandoah  began  in  earnest.  First  came  a  few 
settlers  from  the  older  parts  of  Virginia.  Then  came  large 
numbers  of  the  Scotch-Irish  and  Germans  from  Penn- 
sylvania. These  enterprising  people  by  1730  had  crossed 
the  Susquehanna  and  were  making  settlements  in  the  Cum- 
berland valley.  In  1732  they  began  to  move  down  into  the 
Shenandoah  valley  and  build  rude  cabins  and  plant  corn- 
fields. In  a  few  years  so  many  people  —  Virginians, 
Scotch-Irish,  and  Germans  —  had  settled  in  the  valley  that 
it  became  necessary  for  them  to  have  some  form  of  gov- 
ernment. So  in  1738  Virginia  took  the  matter  in  hand 
and  organized  the  Shenandoah  region  as  a  county  and  pro- 
vided it  with  a  regular  government.  Thus  between  1700 
and  1740  the  strip  of  English  civilization  along  the  Atlantic 
seaboard  was  greatly  widened,  and  the  Frontier  Line  was 
carried  westward  over  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  to  the 
eastern  base  of  the  Alleghanies. 

THE    WESTWARD    MOVEMENT    IN    COLONIAL    TIMES. 

The  progress  of  the  Westward  Movement  in  colonial 
times  was  slow.  A  hundred  and  fifty  years  passed  before 
the  frontier  line  was  pushed  beyond  the  Appalachian  ridge. 
This  slowness  was  due  in  part  to  the  action  of  the  Eng- 
lish government.  Soon  after  England  (in  1763)  came  into 
possession  of  the  country  west  of  the  Alleghanies  the 
king  issued  a  proclamation  reserving  most  of  the  newly 


The  Westward  Movement 


T  S 


Connecticut  and  Rhode  Island. 


acquired  territory 
for  the  use  of  the 
Indians  and  forbid- 
ding the  governors 
of  the  colonies  to 
grant  lands  to  white 
men  west  of  the 
mountains.  If  this 
plan  had  been  car- 
ried out,  English 
civilization  would 
have  been  confined 
to  the  seaboard,  and  the  richest  and  fairest  portions  of  the 
earth  would  have  been  permanently  reserved  as  a  hunting- 
ground  for  savages  and  as  a  lair  for  wild  beasts.  But  the 
War  of  the  Revolution  took  the  Western  country  from  Eng- 
land and  gave  it  to  the  United  States.  The  Ohio  valley 
was  then  thrown  open  to  settlers,  and  white  men  from  all 
parts  of  the  world  rushed  into  the  new  lands  like  hungry 
cattle  rushing  into  new  pastures.  In  twenty  years  after 
the  acknowledgment  of  our  independence  (in  1783)  the 
Frontier  Line  moved  farther  westward  than  it  had  moved 
in  a  century  under  British  rule. 

KENTUCKY. 

The  first  great  stream  of  Western  emigration  after  the 
Revolution  flowed  into  the  region  now  included  within 
the  borders  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  This  territory 
was  a  neutral  hunting-ground  for  Northern  and  Southern 
Indians.  The  red  men  hunted  over  it,  but  did  not  live 
permanently  upon  it  or  claim  it  as  their  own.  The  dis- 
trict, therefore,  was  easier  for  the  white  man  to  settle  than 


Beginnings  of  the  Movement 


were  the  surrounding  regions   in  which  the  Indians  had 
permanent  homes. 

The  settlement  of  the  Kentucky  region  really  began 
several  years  before  the  Revolution.  In  1769  Daniel 
Boone,  a  great  hunter  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of 
American  pioneers,  left  his  home  on  the  Yadkin  River, 
in  North  Carolina,  to  seek  the  wilderness  of  Kentucky. 
With  five  companions  he  passed  through  the  gorges  of  the 
Cumberland  Gap  and  reached  the  blue-grass  region,  "  a 
land  of  running  waters,  of  groves  and  glades,  of  prairies, 
cane-brakes,  and  stretches  of  lofty  forests." 

Boone  returned  to  North  Carolina,  but  not  to  remain. 
His  restless  spirit  still 
yearned  for  the  beautiful 
banks  of  the  far-off  Ken- 
tucky. In  1773  he  sold 
his  farms,  and  with  wife 
and  children  and  about 
fifty  persons  besides 
started  for  Kentucky  with 
the  purpose  of  mak- 


ing a  permanent  settle- 
ment there.  On  the  way, 
however,  the  party  was 
attacked  by  Indians  — 
for  even  in  this  neutral 
territory  the  Indian  was 
sometimes  troublesome  — 
and  Boon  and  his  com- 
panions were  compelled  to 
turn  back. 

But  the  fame  of  the  Kentucky  country  was  now  wide- 


Daniel  Boone. 


8  The  Westward  Movement 

spread,  and  its  settlement  was  near  at  hand.  In  1774 
James  Harrod  of  Virginia,  with  fifty  men,  floated  down 
the  Ohio  River  in  flatboats,  and,  ascending  the  Kentucky 
River,  selected  the  present  site  of  Harrodsburg  as  a  place 
for  a  settlement  and  built  some  cabins.  The  place  was 
given  the  name  of  Harrodstown  (afterward  Harrodsburg) 
and  was  the  first  permanent  settlement  in  Kentucky.  The 
next  year  Boone  safely  reached  Kentucky  and  founded  the 
town  of  Boonesborough.  In  1775  Lexington  also  was 
founded.  "  When  the  embattled  farmers  fired  the  shot 
heard  round  the  world,  a  party  of  hunters  heard  the  echo 
and  baptized  the  station  they  were  building  Lexington." 
Louisville  was  founded  in  1777. 

While  Boone  and  his  followers  were  laying  the  foun- 
dation for  a  State  on  the  banks  of  the  Kentucky,  other 
pioneers  from  North  Carolina  and  Virginia  were  laying 
the  foundations  for  another  State  on  the  banks  of  streams 
that  flow  into  the  Tennessee.  In  the  very  year  (1769) 
that  Boone  visited  the  blue-grass  region,  William  Bean  of 
Virginia  built  himself  a  log  cabin  on  the  Watauga  River. 
Pioneers  came  and  settled  near  Bean,  and  in  a  short  time 
several  hundred  people  had  their  homes  on  the  banks  of 
the  Watauga.  This  Watauga  settlement  was  the  begin- 
ning of  the  State  of  Tennessee. 

North  Carolina  continued  to  let  her  Western  children 
shift  for  themselves,  until  at  last  for  their  own  defense 
and  safety  they  organized  as  a  separate  State,  and  called 
the  new  State  Franklin,  in  honor  of  Benjamin  Franklin. 
John  Sevier,  the  greatest  of  the  early  leaders  in  Tennessee, 
•was  elected  governor  of  Franklin,  and  Greenville  was  made 
the  capital  of  the  State.  But  the  State  of  Franklin  had 
only  a  short  life.  North  Carolina  came  forward  promptly 


Beginnings  of  the  Movement  9 

and  asserted  her  rights,  and  by  1788  the  officers  of  Frank- 
lin were  all  driven  from  power,  the  new  State  was  dead, 
and  North  Carolina  was  again  in  full  control  of  Tennessee. 
In  the  rapid  and  wonderful  growth  of  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee  we  see  the  first-fruits  of  the  Westward  Move- 
ment. Here  out  of  the  wilderness  south  of  the  Ohio  had 


Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  Early  Ohio. 

sprung  up,  almost  overnight,  two  prosperous,  populous, 
well-organized  commonwealths,  States  that  almost  at  once 
could  hold  their  heads  as  high  as  the  oldest  and  proudest 
of  their  sisters. 

THE   NORTHWEST   TERRITORY;   THE   ORDINANCE   OF    1787. 

While  pioneers  from  Virginia  and  North  Carolina  were 
moving  into  Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  emigrants  from  the 


10  The  Westward  Movement 

Northern  States  were  moving  into  western  New  York,  or 
were  crossing  the  Alleghanies  and  settling  the  upper  val- 
leys of  the  Ohio.  The  settlement  of  western  Pennsylvania 
began  even  before  the  Revolution.  In  1770  Washington 
revisited  the  scenes  of  his  early  youth  and  found  Pitts- 
burgh a  village  of  twenty  houses.  Fourteen  years  later 
he  would  have  found  it  a  town  of  two  hundred  houses 
and  a  thousand  inhabitants.  Western  Pennsylvania  filled 
rapidly  with  settlers,  and  soon  pioneers  began  to  float  down 
the  Ohio  in  flatboats  and  build  their  homes  on  the  soil 
of  the  Northwest  Territory.  In  a  few  years  so  many 
white  people  were  living  in  this  Western  domain  that  it 
became  necessary  for  them  to  have  some  form  of  govern- 
ment. So  Congress  (in  1787)  passed  the  law  known  as 
the  Ordinance  of  1787,  the  most  important  law  ever  passed 
by  a  lawmaking  body  in  America. 

The  great  law  of  1787  provided  that,  as  the  Northwest 
Territory  filled  up  with  people,  it  should  be  divided  into 
States  —  not  fewer  than  three  and  not  more  than  five. 
Each  State  was  to  be  governed  according  to  the  will  of  its 


Emigrants  descending  the  Tennessee  River. 


Beginnings  of  the  Movement  11 

voters;  there  was  to  be  no  slavery;  religious  liberty  was 
guaranteed ;  education  was  to  be  encouraged ;  Indians  were 
to  be  justly  treated.  When  a  community  came  to  have 
as  many  as  60,000  inhabitants  it  was  to  be  admitted  into 
the  Union  as  a  State,  with  all  the  rights  of  the  older  States ; 
during  the  time  in  which  a  community  was  too  small  for 
statehood  it  was  to  be  governed  as  a  Territory. 

Such  were  the  provisions  of  the  Ordinance  of  1787. 
The  law  breathed  the  spirit  of  freedom,  and  showed  plainly 
that  Western  settlers  could  look  forward  to  fair  treat- 
ment at  the  hands  of  the  national  government.  The  West- 
ern communities  were  not  to  be  dependent  colonies;  they 
were  to  be  self-governing  States. 

THE    BEGINNINGS    OF    OHIO. 

The  first  community  to  be  built  up  in  the  Northwest 
Territory  was  Ohio.  In  1788  a  party  of  forty-eight  New 
Englanders,  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  Ohio,  landed  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Muskingum  in  a  bullet-proof  barge  which 
bore  the  historic  name  of  Mayflower.  It  was  well  that 
the  barge  was  bullet-proof,  for  white  men  passing  down 
the  Ohio  in  boats  were  in  constant  danger  of  being  shot 
by  Indians  lurking  along  the  shore.  The  Mayflower  party 
went  ashore  opposite  Fort  Harmar,  where  there  was  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers.  In  the  winning  of  Ohio,  soldiers  and  set- 
tlers went  hand  in  hand,  for  everywhere  through  the 
Northwest  there  were  Indians,  and  every  acre  of  land  won 
by  the  ax  and  plow  had  to  be  guarded  and  defended  by 
the  rifle. 

Under  the  protection  of  the  soldiers,  the  New  Eng- 
landers began  to  fell  trees  and  build  houses,  and  to  lay 
the  foundation  of  Marietta,  the  oldest  of  Ohio  towns  and 


12  The  Westward  Movement 

a  place  that  in  the  history  of  the  West  holds  a  rank  similar 
to  that  held  by  Jamestown  and  Plymouth  in  the  history 
of  the  East.  At  Marietta  the  wheels  of  territorial  gov- 
ernment for  the  Northwest  Territory  were  set  in  motion 
(July,  1788).  General  Arthur  St.  Clair,  who  had  climbed 
the  rock  of  Quebec  with  Wolfe,  and  who  was  a  warm 
friend  of  Washington,  had  come  out  as  governor  of  the 
Territory. 

Cincinnati  was  founded  about  the  same  time  as  Marietta. 
In  December,  1788,  twenty-six  settlers  landed  at  the  foot 
of  wrhat  is  now  Sycamore  Street  in  Cincinnati,  and  be- 
gan to  build  a  town  which  they  called  Losantiville,  but 
which  afterward  received  its  present  name.  Other  set- 
tlements on  the  Ohio  quickly  followed  those  of  Marietta 
and  Cincinnati.  The  towns  of  Gallipolis,  Portsmouth, 
Manchester,  and  South  Bend  all  appeared  within  a  few 
years  after  the  founding  of  Marietta. 

The  Ohio  settlers  had  to  meet  the  Indians  at  every  step, 
and  as  the  white  men  became  more  numerous  the  red 
men  became  more  troublesome.  In  1791  Governor  St. 
Clair  was  compelled  to  march  against  the  Indians,  but 
near  the  place  where  the  city  of  Fort  Wayne  now  stands 
he  suffered  a  terrible  defeat.  General  Anthony  Wayne 
— "Mad  Anthony" — the  hero  of  Stony  Point,  was  next 
sent  against  the  red  warriors,  and  at  Fallen  Timbers  (in 
1794)  he  met  them  and  dealt  them  a  blow  that  broke  their 
power  completely  in  Ohio  and  drove  them  from  the  country. 

With  the  Indians  out  of  the  way,  the  settlement  of  Ohio 
could  go  on  much  faster.  Towns  began  to  be  built  farther 
up  the  streams  and  farther  inland.  In  1795  Dayton  and 
Chillicothe  were  founded,  and  the  next  year  General  Moses 
Cleveland,  with  a  few  companions,  founded,  at  the  mouth 


Beginnings  of  the  Movement  13 


Marietta,  Ohio,  in  1790. 

of  the  Cuyahoga  River,  a  town  to  which  he  gave  his  name. 
In  1800  the  original  Northwest  Territory  was  divided, 
and  the  eastern  portion  —  the  portion  that  is  now  Ohio 
—  was  set  off  as  the  Territory  Northwest  of  the  Ohio, 
and  was  given  a  territorial  government  of  its  own.  The 
population  of  this  new  Territory  was  more  than  40,000,  and 
its  people  were  already  beginning  to  think  of  statehood. 


THE  SETTLEMENT  OF  THE  WEST 

BY  EMERSON  HOUGH 
I.  THE  PATHWAY  OF  THE  WATERS 

It  is  pleasant  to  dwell  upon  the  independent  character 
of  Western  life,  and  to  go  back  to  the  glories  of  that  land 
and  day  when  a  man  who  had  a  rifle  and  a  saddle-blanket 
was  sure  of  a  living,  and  need  ask  neither  advice  nor  per- 
mission of  any  living  soul.  These  days,  vivid,  ad- 
venturous, heroic,  will  have  no  counterpart  upon  the  earth 
again.  These  early  Americans,  who  raged  and  roared 
across  the  West,  how  unspeakably  swift  was  the  play  in 
which  they  had  their  part ! 

No  fiction  can  ever  surpass  in  vividness  the  vast,  heroic 
drama  of  the  West.  The  clang  of  steel,  the  shoutings  of 
the  captains,  the  stimulus  of  wild  adventure  —  of  these 
things,  certainly,  there  has  been  no  lack.  There  has  been 
close  about  us  for  two  hundred  years  the  sweeping  action 
of  a  story  keyed  higher  than  any  fiction,  more  unbeliev- 
ably bold,  more  incredibly  keen  in  spirit. 

WHAT    WAS    THAT    WEST? 

Historian,  artist,  novelist,  poet,  must  all  in  some  measure 
fail  to  answer  this  demand,  for  each  generation  buries  its 
own  dead,  and  each  epoch,  to  be  understood,  must  be  seen 
in  connection  with  its  own  living  causes  and  effects  and 

14 


The  Settlement  of  the  West 


interwoven  surroundings.  Yet  it  is  pleasant  sometimes  to 
seek  among  causes,  and  I  conceive  that  a  certain  interest 
may  attach  to  a  quest  which  goes  further  than  a  mere  sum- 
mons on  the  spurred  and  booted  Western  dead  to  rise. 
Let  us  ask,  What  was  the  West  ?  What  caused  its  growth 
and  its  changes?  What  was  the  Western  man,  and  why 
did  his  character  become  what  it  was?  What  future  is 
there  for  the  West  to-day? 
We  shall  find  that  the  answers 
to  these  questions  run  wider 
than  the  West,  and,  indeed, 
wider  than  America. 

We  are  all,  here, —  Easterner 
and  Westerner,  dweller  of  the. 
Old  World  or  the  New,  bond  or 
free,  of  to-day  or  of  yesterday, 
—  but  the  result  of  that  man- 
date which  bade  mankind  to 
increase  and  multiply,  which  bade  mankind  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  earth.  We  have  each  of  us  taken  over  tempo- 
rarily that  portion  of  earth  and  its  fullness  which  was 
allotted  or  which  was  made  possible  to  him  by  that  Provi- 
dence to  which  both  belong.  We  have  each  of  us  done  this 
along  the  lines  of  the  least  possible  resistance,  for  this  is 
the  law  of  organic  life. 

The  West  was  sown  by  a  race  of  giants,  and  reaped  by 
a  race  far  different  and  in  a  day  dissimilar.  Though  the 
day  of  rifle  and  ax,  of  linsey-woolsey  and  hand-ground 
meal,  went  before  the  time  of  trolley-cars  and  self-binder, 
of  purple  and  fine  linen,  it  must  be  observed  that  in  the 
one  day  or  the  other  the  same  causes  were  at  work,  and 
back  of  all  these  causes  were  the  original  law  and  the 


One  of  the  old-time  long- 
haired men  of  the  West. 


16  The  Westward  Movement 

original  mandate.     The  Iliad  of  the  West  is  only  the  story 
of  a  mighty  pilgrimage. 

WHAT,    THEN,    WAS   THE   FIRST   TRANSPORTATION   OF   THE 

WEST? 

When  the  Spaniard  held  the  mouth  of  the  Great  River, 
the  Frenchman  the  upper  sources,  the  American  only  the 
thin  line  of  coast  whose  West  was  the  Alleghanies,  how 
then  did  the  West-bound  travel,  these  folk  who  established 
half  a  dozen  homes  for  every  generation? 

The  answer  would  seem  easy.  They  traveled  in  the 
easiest  way  they  could.  It  was  a  day  of  raft  and  boat, 
of  saddle-horse  and  pack-horse,  of  ax  and  rifle,  and  little 
other  luggage.  Mankind  followed  the  pathways  of  the 
waters. 

THE  RECORD  OF  THE  AVERAGE  LINE  OF  WEST-BOUND  TRAVEL. 

Bishop  Berkeley,  prophetic  soul,  wrote  his  line,  "  West- 
ward the  course  of  empire  takes  its  way."  The  public  has 
always  edited  it  to  read  that  it  is  the  "  star  of  empire  " 
which  "  takes  its  way  "  to  the  West.  If  one  will  read  this 
poem  in  connection  with  a  government  census  map,  he  will 
not  fail  to  see  how  excellent  is  the  amendment.  Excellent 
census  map,  which  holds  between  its  covers  the  greatest 
poem,  the  greatest  drama  ever  written!  Excellent  census 
map,  which  marks  the  center  of  population  of  America 
with  a  literal  star,  and  which,  at  the  curtain  of  each  act, 
the  lapse  of  each  ten  years,  advances  this  star  with  the 
progress  of  the  drama,  westward,  westward! 

WHY  THIS  AVERAGE  LINE  TOOK  THE  COURSE  IT  DID. 

The  first  step  of  this  star  of  empire    (that  concluded 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  17 

in  1800)  barely  removed  it  from  its  initial  point  upon  the 
Chesapeake.  The  direction  was  toward  the  southwestern 
corner  of  Pennsylvania.  The  government  at  Washington, 
young  as  it  was,  knew  that  the  Ohio  River,  reached  from 
the  North  by  a  dozen  trails  from  the  Great  Lakes,  and 
running  out  into  that  West  which  even  then  was  coveted 
by  three  nations,  was  of  itself  a  priceless  possession.  It 
was  a  military  reason  which  first  set  moving  the  Pennsyl- 
vania hotbed  of  immigrants.  The  restless  tide  of  humanity 
spread  from  that  point  according  to  principles  as  old  as 
the  world.  Having  a  world  before  them  from  which  to 
choose  their  homes,  the  men  of  that  time  sought  out  those 
homes  along  the  easiest  lines.  The  first  thrust  of  the  out- 
bound population  was  not  along  the  parallels  of  latitude 
westward,  as  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  rule,  but  to  the 
south  and  southeast,  into  the  valleys  of  the  Appalachians, 
where  the  hills  would  raise  corn,  and  the  streams  would 
carry  it.  The  early  emigrants  learned  that  a  raft  would 
eat  nothing,  that  a  boat  ran  well  down-stream.  Men  still 
clung  to  the  seaboard  region,  though  even  now  they  ex- 
emplified that  great  law  of  population  which  designates 
the  river  valleys  to  be  the  earliest  and  most  permanent 
centers  of  population.  The  valleys  of  Virginia  and  Mary- 
land caught  the  wealthiest  and  most  aristocratic  of  the 
shifting  population  of  that  day.  Daniel  Boone  heard  the 
calling  of  the  voices  early,  but  not  until  long  after  men 
had  begun  to  pick  out  the  best  of  the  farming-lands  of 
North  and  South  Carolina  and  lower  Virginia.  The  first 
trails  of  the  Appalachians  were  the  waterways,  paths  which 
we  do  not  follow  or  parallel,  but  intersect  in  our  course 
when  we  go  by  rail  from  the  Mississippi  valley  to  that 
first  abiding-place  of  the  star. 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  19 

The  real  mother  of  the  West  was  the  South.  It  was 
she  who  bore  this  child,  and  it  has  been  much  at  her  ex- 
pense that  it  has  grown  so  large  and  matured  so  swiftly. 
The  path  of  empire  had  its  head  on  the  Chesapeake.  But 
let  us  at  least  be  fair.  New  England  and  New  York  did 
not  first  settle  the  West,  not  because  the  Chesapeake  man 
was  some  superhuman  being,  but  because  the  rivers  of  New 
England  and  New  York  did  not  run  in  the  right  direction. 
We  may  find  fate,  destiny,  and  geography  very  closely  in- 
termingled in  the  history  of  this  country,  or  of  any  other. 
Any  nation  first  avails  itself  of  its  geography,  then  at  last 
casts  its  geography  aside;  after  that,  politics. 

PORTRAIT   OF   THE    FIRST    WEST-BOUND   AMERICAN. 

Let  us  picture  for  ourselves  this  first  restless  American, 
this  West-bound  man.  We  must  remember  that  there  had 
been  two  or  three  full  American  generations  to  produce 
him,  this  man  who  first  dared  turn  away  from  the  sea- 
board and  set  his  face  toward  the  sinking  of  the  sun,  to- 
ward the  dark  and  mysterious  mountains  and  forests  which 
then  encompassed  the  least  remote  land  fairly  to  be  called 
the  West.  Two  generations  had  produced  a  man  different 
from  the  Old-World  type.  Free  air  and  good  food  had 
given  him  abundant  brawn.  He  was  tall.  Little  fat 
cloyed  the  free  play  of  his  muscles,  and  there  belonged 
to  him  the  heritage  of  that  courage  which  comes  of  good 
heart  and  lungs.  He  was  a  splendid  man  to  have  for  an 
ancestor,  this  tall  and  florid  athlete  who  never  heard  of 
athletics.  His  face  was  thin  and  aquiline,  his  look  high 
and  confident,  his  eye  blue,  his  speech  reserved.  You  may 
see  this  same  man  yet  in  those  restricted  parts  of  this 
country  which  remain  fit  to  be  called  America.  You  may 


20 


The  Westward  Movement 


see  him  sometimes  in  the  mountains  of  Tennessee,  the 
brakes  of  Arkansas  or  Missouri,  where  the  old  strain  has 
remained  most  pure.  You  might  have  seen  him  over  all 
the  West  in  the  generation  preceding  our  own. 

THE    EQUIPMENT    OF    THE    EARLY    AMERICAN HIS    SKILL 

WITH   IT. 

This  was  our  American,  discontented  to  dwell  longe' 
by  the  sea.  He  had  two  tools,  the  ax  and  the  rifle.  Witl 
the  one  he  built,  with  the  other  he 
fought  and  lived.  Early  America 
saw  the  invention  of  the  small-bore 
rifle  because  there  was  need  for  that 
invention.  It  required  no  such  long 
range  in  those  forest  days,  and  it 
gave  the  greatest  possible  amount 
of  results  for  its  expenditure.  Its 
charge  was  tiny,  its  provender  com- 
pact and  easily  carried  by  the  man 
who  must  economize  in  every  ounce 
of  transported  goods;  and  yet  its 
powers  were  wonderful.  Our  early 
American  could  plant  that  little 
round  pellet  in  just  such  a  spot  as 
he  liked  of  game-animal  or  of  red- 
skinned  enemy,  and  the  deadly  effect 
of  no  projectile  known  to  man  has 
ever  surpassed  this  one,  if  each  be 
weighed  by  the  test  of  economic  ex- 
penditure. This  long,  small-bored  tube  was  one  of  the 
early  agents  of  American  civilization.  The  conditions  of 
the  daily  life  of  the  time  demanded  great  skill  in  the  use  of 


A  Missouri  hunter. 


In  the  Alleghany  Mountains :    The  retreat  to  the  blockhouse. 


22  The  Westward  Movement 

this  typical  arm,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  early  riflemen 
of  the  West  has  probably  never  been  surpassed  in  popular 
average  by  any  people  of  the  world.  Driving  a  nail  and 
snuffing  a  candle  with  a  rifle-bullet  were  common  forms 
of  the  amusement  which  was  derived  from  the  practice  of 
arms. 

THIS  AMERICAN,   SO  EQUIPPED,   MOVES  WESTWARD. 

When  the  American  settler  had  got  as  far  West  as  the 
Plains  he  needed  arms  of  greater  range,  and  then  he  made 
them;  but  the  first  two  generations  of  the  West-bound 
'had  the  buckskin  bandoleer,  with  its  little  bullets,  its  little 
molds  for  making  them,  its  little  worm  which  served  to 
clean  the  interior  of  the  barrel  with  a  wisp  of  flax,  its  tiny 
flask  of  precious  powder,  its  extra  flint  or  so.  The  American 
rifle  and  the  American  ax  —  what  a  history  might  be 
written  of  these  alone!  They  were  the  sole  warrant  for 
the  departure  of  the  outbound  man  from  all  those  associ- 
ations which  had  held  him  to  his  home.  He  took  some 
sweet  girl  from  her  own  family,  some  mother  or  grand- 
mother of  you  or  me,  and  he  took  his  good  ax  and  rifle, 
and  he  put  his  little  store  on  raft  or  pack-horse,  and  so 
he  started  out;  and  God  prospered  him.  In  his  time  he 
was  a  stanch,  industrious  man,  a  good  hunter,  a  sturdy 
chopper,  a  faithful  lover  of  his  friends,  and  a  stern  hater 
of  his  foes. 

HOW  HE  FINDS  THE  WATERWAYS  EASY  AS  PATHS  WESTWARD. 

In  time  this  early  outbound  man  learned  that  there  were 
rivers  which  ran  not  to  the  southeast  and  into  the  sea, 
but  outward,  across  the  mountains  toward  the  setting  sun. 
The  winding  trails  of  the  Alleghanies  led  one  finally  to 


The  Settlement  of  the  West 


Westward  movement  of  the  center  of  population   from  1790  to  1900, 
indicated  by  stars. 

rivers  which  ran  toward  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  even  farther 
out  into  that  unknown,  tempting  land  which  still  was  called 
the  West.  Thus  it  came  that  the  American  genius  broke 
entirely  away  from  salt-water  traditions,  asked  no  longer 
"  What  cheer?  "  from  the  ships  that  came  from  across  the 
seas,  clung  no  longer  to  the  customs,  the  costumes,  the  prec- 
edents or  standards  of  the  past.  There  came  the  day  of 
buckskin  and  woolsey,  of  rifle  and  ax,  of  men  curious  for 
adventures,  of  homes  built  of  logs  and  slabs,  with  punch- 
eons for  floors,  with  little  fields  about  them,  and  tiny  paths 
that  led  out  into  the  immeasurable  preserves  of  the  pri- 
meval forests.  A  few  things  held  intrinsic  value  at  that 
time  —  powder,  lead,  salt,  maize,  cow-bells,  women  who 
dared.  It  was  a  simple  but  not  an  ill  ancestry,  this  that 
turned  away  from  the  sea-coast  forever  and  began  the 
making  of  another  world.  It  was  the  strong-limbed,  the 
bold-hearted  who  traveled,  the  weak  who  stayed  at  home. 

OTHER   DISTANCES,    OTHER    CUSTOMS,    OTHER   VALUES. 

This  was  the  ancestral  fiber  of  the  West.  What  time 
had  folk  like  these  for  powder-puff  or  ruffle,  for  fan  or 
jeweled  snuff-box?  Their  garb  was  made  from  the  skin 
of  the  deer,  the  fox,  the  wolf.  Their  shoes  were  of  buffalo- 


The  Westward  Movement 


hide,  their  beds  were  made  of  the  robes  of  the  bear  and 
buffalo.  They  laid  the  land  under  tribute.  Yet,  so  far 
from  mere  savagery  was  the  spirit  that  animated  these  men 
that  in  ten  years  after  they  had  first  cut  away  the  forest 
they  were  founding  a  college  and  establishing  a  court  of 


Under  2  inhabitants  to  sq.mile 
2  to  18          «  "       " 

18  to  45         «  «       « 

Over  45  »  "       " 


Map  of  the  census  of  1790. 

law!  Read  this  forgotten  history,  one  chapter,  and  a  little 
one,  in  the  history  of  the  West,  and  then  turn,  if  you 
like,  to  the  chapters  of  fiction  in  an  older  world.  You  have 
your  choice. 

In  those  early  days  there  were  individual  opportunities 
so  numerous  in  the  West  that  no  opportunity  had  value. 
A  tract  of  six  hundred  and  forty  acres,  which  is  now  within 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  25 

the  limits  of  the  city  of  Nashville,  sold  for  three  axes  and 
two  cow-bells.  Be  sure  it  was  not  politics  that  made  corn 
worth  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  dollars  a  bushel,  and 
sold  a  mile  of  ground  for  the  tinkle  of  a  bell.  The  con- 
ditions were  born  of  a  scanty  and  insufficient  transporta- 
tion. 


Under  2  inhabitants  to  sq.mile 

to 

18  to  15 
Over.45 


Map  of  the  census  of  1820. 


THE  WEST  CONTINUED  TO  GROW  DOWN  STREAM,   NOT  UP. 

There  was  a  generation  of  this  down-stream  transporta- 
tion, and  it  built  up  the  first  splendid,  aggressive  popula- 
tion of  the  West  —  a  population  which  continued  to  edge 
farther  outward  and  farther  down-stream.  The  settle- 


26  The  Westward  Movement 

ment  at  Nashville,  the  settlements  of  Kentucky,  were  at 
touch  with  the  Ohio  River,  the  broad  highway  that  led 
easily  down  to  the  yet  broader  highway  )f  the  Mississippi, 
that  great,  mysterious  stream  so  intimately  connected  with 
American  history  and  American  progress.  It  was  easy  to 
get  to  New  Orleans,  but  hard  to  get  back  over  the  Alle- 
ghanies. 

HAVING  THE  MISSISSIPPI  FOR  ITS  ROAD,  THE  WEST 
IS  CONTENT. 

Meantime  the  stout  little  government  at  Washington, 
knowing  well  enough  all  the  dangers  which  threatened  it, 
continued  to  work  out  the  problems  of  the  West.  Some 
breathless,  trembling  years  passed  by  —  years  full  of  wars 
and  treaties  in  Europe  as  well  as  in  America.  Thei?  came 
the  end  of  all  doubts  and  tremblings.  The  lying  intrigues 
at  the  mouth  of  America's  great  roadway  ceased  by  virtue 
of  that  purchase  of  territory  which  gave  to  America  for- 
ever this  mighty  Mississippi,  solemn,  majestic,  and  mys- 
terious stream,  perpetual  highway,  and  henceforth  to  be 
included  wholly  within  the  borders  of  the  West.  The  year 
which  saw  the  Mississippi  made  wholly  American  was  one 
mighty  in  the  history  of  America  and  cf  the  world.  The 
date  of  the  Louisiana  Purchase  is  significant  not  more  by 
reason  of  a  vast  domain  added  to  the  West  than  because 
of  the  fact  that  with  this  territory  came  the  means  of 
building  it  up  and  holding  it  together.  It  was  now  that  for 
the  first  time  the  solidarity  of  this  New  World  was  for- 
ever assured.  We  gained  a  million  uninhabited  miles  — 
a  million  miles  of  country  which  will  one  day  support  its 
thousands  to  the  mile.  But  still  more  important,  we  gained 
the  right  and  the  ability  to  travel  into  it  and  across  it 


28  The  Westward  Movement 

and  through  it.  France  had  failed  to  build  roads  into  that 
country,  and  thereafter  neither  France  nor  any  other  power 
might  ever  do  so. 

HOW   MUCH   RICHER   WAS  THIS   WEST  THAN  DREAMED. 

How  feeble  is  our  grasp  upon  the  future  may  be  seen 
from  the  last  utterance.  The  sum  of  $15,000,000  seemed 
"  enormous."  To-day,  less  than  a  century  from  that  time, 
one  American  citizen  has  in  his  lifetime  made  from  the 
raw  resources  of  this  land  a  fortune  held  to  be  $266,000,- 
ooo.  One  Western  city,  located  in  that  despised  terri- 
tory, during  one  recent  year  showed  sales  of  grain  alone 
amounting  to  $123,300,000;  of  live  stock  alone,  $268,- 
000,000;  of  wholesale  trade,  $786,205,000;  of  manufac- 
tures,—  where  manufactures  were  once  held  impossible, — 
the  total  of  $741,097,000.  It  was  once  four  weeks  from 
Maine  to  Washington.  It  is  now  four  days  from  Oregon. 
The  total  wealth  of  all  the  cities,  all  the  lands,  all  the 
individuals  of  that  once  despised  West,  runs  into  figures 
which  surpass  all  belief  and  'all  comprehension.  And  this 
has  grown  up  within  less  than  a  hundred  years. 

THE    WESTERNER    RAISES    MORE    THAN    HE    CAN    EAT. 

But  now  we  must  conceive  of  our  Western  man  as  not 
now  in  dress  so  near  a  parallel  to  that  of  the  savage  whom 
he  had  overcome.  There  was  falling  into  his  mien  some- 
what more  of  staidness  and  sobriety.  This  man  had  so 
used  the  ax  that  he  had  a  farm,  and  on  this  farm  he 
raised  more  than  he  himself  could  use  —  first  step  in  the 
great  future  of  the  West  as  storehouse  for  the  world. 
This  extra  produce  could  certainly  not  be  taken  back  over 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  29 

the  Alleghanies,  nor  could  it  be  traded  on  the  spot   for 
aught  else  than  merely  similar  commodities. 

Here,  then,  was  a  turning-point  in  Western  history. 
There  is  no  need  to  assign  to  it  an  exact  date.  We  have 
the  pleasant  fashion  of  learning  history  through  dates  of 
battles  and  assassinations.  We  might  do  better  in  some 
cases  did  we  learn  the  times  of  happenings  of  certain  great 
and  significant  things.  It  was  an  important  time  when 
this  first  Western  fanner,  somewhat  shorn  of  fringe, 
sought  to  find  market  for  his  crude  produce,  and  found 
that  the  pack-horse  would  not  serve  him  so  well  as  the 
broad-horned  flatboat  which  supplanted  his  canoe. 

HOW    HE    MIGHT    SELL   THIS    SURPLUS    FAR    FROM    HOME. 

The  flatboat  ran  altogether  down-stream.  Hence  it  led 
altogether  away  from  home  and  from  the  East.  The 
Western  man  was  relying  upon  himself,  cutting  loose  from 
traditions,  asking  help  of  no  man;  sacrificing,  perhaps,  a 
little  of  sentiment,  but  doing  so  out  of  necessity,  and  only 
because  of  the  one  great  fact  that  the  waters  would  not 
run  back  uphill,  would  not  carry  him  back  to  that  East 
which  was  once  his  home.  So  the  homes  and  the  graves 
in  the  West  grew,  and  there  arose  a  civilization  distinct 
and  different  from  that  which  kept  hold  upon  the  sea  and 
upon  the  Old  World. 

WHAT    WAS    THE    WEST    AT    THIS    TIME    OF    DOWN-STREAM? 

It  may  now  prove  of  interest  to  take  a  glance  at  the 
crude  geography  of  this  Western  land  at  that  time  when  it 
first  began  to  produce  a  surplus,  and  the  time  when  it 
had  permanently  set  its  face  away  from  the  land  east  of 
the  Alleghanies.  The  census  map  (see  page  30)  will  prove 


The  Westward  Movement 


of  the  best  service,  and  its  little  blotches  of  color  tell 
much  in  brief  regarding  the  West  of  1800.  For  forty 
years  before  this  time  the  fur  trade  had  had  its  depot  at 
the  city  of  St.  Louis.  For  a  hundred  years  there  had  been 
a  settlement  upon  the  Great  Lakes.  For  nearly  a  hundred 
years  the  town  of  New  Orleans  had  been  established. 
Here  and  there,  between  these  foci  of  adventurers,  there 
were  odd,  seemingly  unaccountable  little  dots  and  specks 
of  population  scattered  over  all  the  map,  product  of  that 
first  uncertain  hundred  years.  Ohio,  directly  west  of  the 
original  hotbed,  was  left  blank  for  a  long  time,  and  indeed 
received  her  first  population  from  the  southward,  and  not 
from  the  East,  though  the  New-Englander  Moses  Cleve- 
land founded  the  town  of  Cleveland  as  early  as  1796. 
Lower  down  in  the  great  valley  of  the  Mississippi  was  a 
curious,  illogical,  and  now  forgotten  little  band  of  settlers 
who  had  '  formed  what  was  known  as  the  "  Mississippi 


\ 

sa- — -,,. 

pQ.  /^Sl'£3.—^~\ 
:^/hf 


UNITED  STATES  CENSUS 
1810. 


y 


^^\ 


6.X 


The  Settlement  of  the  West 


Territory."  Smaller  yet,  and  more  inexplicable,  did  \ve 
not  know  the  story  of  the  old  water-trail  from  the  Green 
Bay  to  the  Mississippi,  there  was  a  dot,  a  smear,  a  tiny 
speck  of  population  high  up  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Miss- 
issippi, where  the  Wisconsin  emptied.  These  valley  settle- 
ments far  outnumbered  all  the  population  of  the  State  of 
Ohio,  which  had  lain  directly  in  the  path  of  the  star,  but 
the  streams  of  which  lay  awkwardly  on  the  scheme  of 
travel.  The  West  was  beginning  to  be  the  West.  The 
seed  sown  by  Marquette  the  Good,  by  Hennepin  the  Bad, 
by  La  Salle  the  Bold,  by  Tonti  the  Faithful, —  seed  despised 
by  an  ancient  and  corrupt  monarchy, —  had  now  begun 
to  grow. 

ANOTHER    WEST    BEYOND. 

Yet,  beyond  the  farthest  families  of  the  West  of  that 
day,  there  was  still  a  land  so  great  that  no  one  tried  to 
measure  it,  or  sought  to  include  it  in  the  plans  of  family 


32  The  Westward  Movement 

or  nation.  It  was  all  a  matter  for  the  future,  for  genera- 
tions much  later.  Compared  with  the  movements  of  the 
past,  it  must  be  centuries  before  the  West  —  whatever  that 
term  might  mean  —  could  ever  be  overrun.  That  it  could 
ever  be  exhausted  was,  to  be  sure,  an  utterly  unthinkable 
thing.  There  were  vague  stories  among  the  hardy  settlers 
about  new  lands  incredibly  distant,  mythically  rich  in  in- 
terest. But  who  dreamed  the  import  of  the  journey  of 
strong-legged  Zebulon  Pike  into  the  lands  of  the  Sioux, 
and  who  believed  all  his  story  of  a  march  from  Colorado 
to  Chihuahua,  and  thence  back  to  the  Sabine?  What  en- 
thusiasm was  aroused  for  the  peaceful  settlers  of  the 
Middle  West,  whose  neighbor  was  fifty  miles  away,  by  that 
ancient  saga,  that  heroically  done,  misspelled  story  of 
Lewis  and  Clark?  There  was  still  to  be  room  enough  and 
chance  enough  in  the  West. 


II.  AGAINST  THE  WATERS 

THE    UP-STREAM    MAN. 

In  1810  the  Western  frontier  of  the  United  States 
slanted  like  the  roof  of  a  house  from  Maine  to  Louisiana. 
The  center  of  population  was  almost  exactly  upon  the  site 
of  the  city  of  Washington. 

That  mysterious  land  beyond  the  Mississippi  was  even 
then  receiving  more  and  more  of  that  adventurous  popu- 
lation which  the  statesmen  of  the  Louisiana  Purchase 
feared  would  leave  the  East  and  never  would  return.  The 
fur-traders  of  St.  Louis  had  found  a  way  to  reach  the 
Rockies.  The  adventurous  West  was  once  more  blazing 
a  trail  for  the  commercial  and  industrial  West  to  follow. 
This  was  the  second  outward  setting  of  the  tide  of  West- 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  33 

bound  travel.  We  had  used  up  all  our  down-stream  trans- 
portation, and  we  had  taken  over,  and  were  beginning  to 
use,  all  the  trails  that  led  into  the  West,  all  the  old  French 
trails,  the  old  Spanish  trails,  the  trails  that  led  out  with 
the  sun.  No  more  war  parties  now  from  the  Great  Lakes 
to  the  Ohio,  from  the  Great  Lakes  to  Mississippi.  This 
was  our  country.  We  held  the  roads. 

STEAM    HELPS    THE    UP-STREAM    JOURNEYINGS. 

But  now  there  were  happening  yet  other  strange  and 
startling  things.  In  1806,  at  Pittsburg,  some  persons  built 
the  first  steamboat  ever  seen  on  the  Ohio  River. 

KASKASKIA:  THE  TURNING  OF  THE  TIDE. 

1'hanks  to  the  man  who  could  go  up-stream,  corn  was 
no  longer  worth  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  dollars  a  bushel 
anywhere  in  America.  Corn  was  worth  fifty  cents  a 
bushel,  and  calico  was  worth  fifty  cents  a  yard,  at  the 
city  of  Kaskaskia,  in  the  heart  of  the  Mississippi  valley. 
Kaskaskia  the  ancient  was  queen  of  the  down-stream  trade 
in  her  day. 

THE  COMMERCE  OF  THE  TRANS-MISSISSIPPI  WEST. 

Calico  was  worth  fifty  cents  a  yard  at  Kaskaskia;  it 
was  worth  three  dollars  a  yard  in  Santa  Fe.  A  beaver- 
skin  was  worth  three  dollars  in  New  York;  it  was  worth 
fifty  cents  at  the  head  of  the  Missouri.  There  you  have 
the  problems  of  the  men  of  1810,  and  that,  in  a  nutshell, 
is  the  West  of  1810,  1820,  1830.  The  problem  was  then, 
as  now,  how  to  transport  a  finished  product  into  a  new 
country,  a  raw  product  back  into  an  old  country,  and  a 
population  between  the  two  countries.  There  sprang  up 


34  The  Westward  Movement 

then,  in  this  second  era  of  American  transportation,  that 
might>  commerce  of  the  prairies,  which,  carried  on  under 
the  name  of  trade,  furnished  one  of  the  boldest  commercial 
romances  of  the  earth.  Fostered  by  merchants,  it  was 
captained  and  carried  on  by  heroes,  and  was  dependent 
upon  a  daily  heroism  such  as  commerce  has  never  seen 
anywhere  except  in  the  American  West.  The  Kit  Car- 
sons  now  took  the  place  of  the  Simon  Kentons,  the  Bill 
Williamses  of  the  Daniel  Boones.  The  Western  scout,  the 
trapper,  the  hunter,  wild  and  solitary  figures,  took  promi- 
nent place  upon  the  nation's  canvas. 

This  Western  commerce,  the  wagon-freighting,  steam- 
boating,  and  packing  of  the  first  half  of  this  century,  was 
to  run  in  three  great  channels,  each  distinct  from  the 
other.  First  there  was  the  fur  trade,  whose  birth  was  in 
the  North.  Next  there  was  the  trade  of  mercantile  ven- 
tures to  the  far  Southwest.  Lastly  there  was  to  grow  up 
the  freighting  trade  to  the  mining  regions  of  the  West. 
The  cattle-growing,  farming,  or  commercial  West  of  to- 
day was  still  a  thing  undreamed. 

CAUSES    FOR   GROWTH    OF    SELF-RELIANT    WESTERN 
CHARACTER. 

In  every  one  of  these  three  great  lines  of  activity  we  may 
still  note  what  we  may  call  the  curiously  individual  quality 
of  the  West.  The  conditions  of  life,  of  trade,  of  any  en- 
durance upon  the  soil,  made  heavy  demands  upon  the 
physical  man.  There  must,  above  all  things,  be  strength, 
hardihood,  courage.  There  were  great  companies  in  com- 
merce, it  is  true,  but  there  were  no  great  corporations  to 
safeguard  the  persons  of  those  transported.  Each  man 
must  "  take  care  of  himself,"  as  the  peculiar  and  significant 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  35 

phrase  went.  "Good-by;  take  care  of  yourself,"  was  the 
last  word  for  the  man  departing  to  the  West.  The  strong 
legs  of  himself  and  his  horse,  the  strong  arms  of  himself 
and  his  fellow-laborers,  these  must  furnish  his  transporta- 
tion. The  muscles  tried  and  proved,  the  mind  calm  amid 
peril,  the  heart  unwearied  by  reverses  or  hardships  —  these 
were  the  items  of  the  capital  universal  and  indispensable  of 
the  West.  We  may  trace  here  the  development  of  a  type 
as  surely  as  we  can  by  reading  the  storied  rocks  of  geol- 
ogy. This  time  of  boat  and  horse,  of  pack  and  cordelle 
and  travois,  of  strenuous  personal  effort,  of  individual  initi- 
ative, left  its  imprint  forever  and  indelibly  upon  the  char- 
acter of  the  American,  and  made  him  what  he  is  to-day 
among  the  nations  of  the  globe. 

THE   ADVENTUROUS    WEST. 

There  was  still  a  West  when  Kaskaskia  was  queen.  Ma- 
jor Long's  expedition  up  the  Platte  brought  back  the  "  im- 
portant fact  "  that  the  "  whole  division  of  North  America 
drained  by  the  Missouri  and  the  Platte,  and  their  tribu- 
taries between  the  meridians  of  the  mouth  of  the  Platte 
and  the  Rockies,  is  almost  entirely  unfit  for  cultivation,  and 
therefore  uninhabitable  for  an  agricultural  people."  There 
are  many  thousands  of  farmers  to-day  who  cannot  quite 
agree  with  Major  Long's  dictum,  but  in  that  day  the  dictum 
was  accepted  carelessly  or  eagerly.  No  one  west  of  the 
Mississippi  yet  cared  for  farms.  There  were  swifter  ways 
to  wealth  than  farming,  and  the  wild  men  of  the  West  of 
that  day  had  only  scorn  and  distrust  for  the  whole  theory 
of  agriculture.  "  As  soon  as  you  thrust  the  plow  into  the 
earth,"  said  one  adventurer  who  had  left  the  East  for  the 
wilder  lands  of  the  West,  "  it  teems  with  worms  and  use- 


36  The  Westward  Movement 

less  weeds.  Agriculture  increases  population  to  an  un- 
natural extent."  For  such  men  there  was  still  a  vast  world 
without  weeds,  where  the  soil  was  virgin,  where  one  might 
be  uncrowded  by  the  touch  of  home-building  man.  Let 
the  farmers  have  Ohio  and  Kentucky,  there  was  still  a 
West. 

THE   WEST   OF   THE    FUR   TRADE. 

There  was,  in  the  first  place,  then,  the  West  of  the  fur 
trade.  For  generations  the  wild  peddlers  of  the  woods 
had  traced  the  waterways  of  the  far  Northwest,  sometimes 
absent  for  one,  two,  or  more  years  from  the  place  they 
loosely  called  home,  sometimes  never  returning  at  all  from 
that  savagery  which  offered  so  great  a  fascination,  often 
too  strong  even  for  men  reared  in  the  lap  of  luxury  and  re- 
finement. 

TRANSPORTATION    OF    THE    FUR    TRADE. 

Steam  was  but  an  infant,  after  all,  in  spite  of  the  little 
steamboat  triumphs  of  the  day.  The  waters  offered  road- 
way for  the  steamboats,  and  water  transportation  by  steam 
was  much  less  expensive  than  transportation  by  railway ; 
but  the  head  of  navigation  by  steamboats  was  only  the 
point  of  departure  of  a  wilder  and  cruder  transportation. 
One  of  the  native  ships  of  the  wilderness  was  the  great 
canot  du  Nord  of  the  early  voyageurs,  a  craft  made  of  birch 
bark,  thirty  feet  long,  of  four  feet  beam  and  a  depth  of 
thirty  inches,  which  would  carry  a  crew  of  ten  men  and  a 
cargo  of  sixty-five  packages  of  goods  or  furs,  each  pack- 
age weighing  ninety  pounds.  This  vessel  reached  the  limits 
of  carrying  capacity  and  of  portability.  Its  crew  could  un- 
load and  repack  it,  after  a  portage  of  a  hundred  yards,  in 
less  than  twenty  minutes.  Thousands  of  miles  were  cov- 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  37 

ered  annually  by  one  of  these  vessels.  The  crew  which 
paddled  it  from  Montreal  to  Winnipeg  was  then  but  half- 
way on  the  journey  to  the  Great  Slave  and  Great  Bear 
country,  which  had  been  known  from  the  beginning  in  the 
fur  trade. 

THE  ULTIMATE  TRAILS. 

Beyond  the  natural  reach  of  the  canot  du  Nord,  the  lesser 
craft  of  the  natives,  the  smaller  birch  barks,  took  up  the 
trail,  and  passed  even  farther  up  into  the  unknown  coun- 
tries ;  and  beyond  the  head  of  the  ultimate  thread  of  the 
waters  the  pack-horse,  or  the  travois  and  the  dog,  took  up 
the  burden  of  the  day,  until  the  trails  were  lost  in  the  for- 
est, and  the  traveler  carried  his  pack  on  his  own  back. 

THE    FUR    TRADE    SHOWED    US    ALSO    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

The  fur  trade  taught  us  something  of  our  own  geogra- 
phy upon  the  North  and  Northwest,  but  it  did  more.  It 
was  a  fur-trader  who  first  developed  the  possibilities  of  the 
Spanish  Southwest  for  the  second  expansion  of  our  West- 
ern commerce.  In  1823  General  William  H.  Ashley,  of 
the  American  Fur  Company,  made  an  expedition  up  the 
Platte,  and  is  credited  with  first  reaching  from  the  East  the 
South  Pass  of  the  Rockies,  which  was  soon  to  become  rec- 
ognized as  the  natural  gateway  of  the  great  iron  trail  across 
the  continent.  In  the  following  year  Ashley  penetrated 
to  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  and  later  reached  Santa  Fe,  situ- 
ated in  territory  then  wholly  belonging  to  Mexico. 

DETAILS    REGARDING    SOUTHWESTERN    WAGON-TRAINS. 

The  story  of  the  Santa  Fe  trail  has  been  told  by  many 
writers,  and  its  chief  interest  here  is  simply  as  showing  the 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  39 

eagerness  with  which  the  men  of  that  day  seized  upon  ev- 
ery means  of  transport  in  their  power,  and  the  skill  and  in- 
genuity with  which  they  brought  each  to  perfection.  The 
wagon- freighting  of  the  Southwest  was  highly  systema- 
tized, and  was  indeed  carried  on  with  an  almost  military 
regularity.  The  route  was  by  way  of  the  Council  Grove, 
then  the  northern  limit  of  the  Comanches'  range,  and  it 
was  at  this  point  that  the  organization  of  the  wagon-train 
was  commonly  completed.  A  train-master  or  captain  was 
chosen,  and  the  whole  party  put  under  his  command,  each 
man  having  his  position,  and  each  being  expected  to  take 
his  turn  on  the  night-watch  which  was  necessary  in  that 
land  of  bold  and  hostile  savages.  During  the  day  the  train 
moved  in  two  columns,  some  thirty  feet  or  so  apart,  each 
team  following  close  upon  the  one  immediately  preceding 
it  in  the  line.  In  case  of  any  alarm  of  Indians,  the  head 
and  rear  teams  of  the  two  parallel  columns  turned  in  to- 
ward each  other,  and  thus  there  was  formed  upon  the 
moment  a  long  parallelogram  of  wagons,  open  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  inclosing  the  loose  riding-animals,  and  closed  at 
the  front  and  rear.  The  wagons  were  loaded,  to  a  great 
extent,  with  cotton  stuffs  in  bales,  and  these  made  a  fair 
fortification.  The  Indians  had  difficulty  in  breaking  the 
barricade  of  one  of  these  hardy  caravans,  defended  as  it 
was  by  numbers  of  the  best  riflemen  the  world  ever  knew. 
Small  parties  were  frequently  destroyed,  but  in  the  later 
days  a  train  was  commonly  made  up  of  at  least  one  hundred 
wagons,  with  perhaps  two  hundred  men  in  the  party,  and 
with  eight  hundred  mules  or  oxen.  The  goods  in  convoy 
in  such  a  train  might  be  worth  half  a  million  dollars.  The 
time  in  transit  was  about  ten  weeks,  the  out  trip  being  made 
in  the  spring  and  the  return  in  the  fall. 


4O  The  Westward  Movement 

The  Santa  Fe  trade  lasted,  roughly  speaking,  only  about 
twenty  years,  being  practically  terminated  in  1843  by  the 
edict  of  Santa  Anna.  These  difficulties  in  our  Western 
commerce  all  came  to  an  end  with  the  Mexican  War,  and 
with  the  second  and  third  great  additions  to  our  Western 
territory,  which  gave  us  the  region  on  the  South  as  well  as 
the  North,  from  ocean  to  ocean. 

THE   GOLD-BEARING  WEST. 

This  time  was  one  of  great  activity  in  all  the  West,  and 
the  restless  population  which  had  gained  a  taste  of  the  ad- 
venturous life  of  that  region  was  soon  to  have  yet  greater 
opportunities.  The  discovery  of  gold  in  California  unset- 
tled not  only  all  the  West,  but  all  America,  and  hastened 
immeasurably  the  development  of  the  West,  not  merely  as 
to  the  Pacific  coast,  but  also  in  regard  to  the  mountain  re- 
gions between  the  Great  Plains  and  the  Coast.  The  turbu- 
lent population  of  the  mines  spread  from  California  into 
every  accessible  portion  of  the  Rockies.  The  trapper  and 
hunter  of  the  remotest  range  found  that  he  had  a  com- 
panion in  the  wilderness,  the  prospector,  as  hardy  as  him- 
self, and  animated  by  a  feverish  energy  which  rendered 
him  even  more  determined  and  unconquerable  than  himself. 
Love  of  excitement  and  change  invited  the  trapper  to  the 
mountains.  It  was  love  of  gain  which  drove  the  pros- 
pector thither.  Commercial  man  was  to  do  in  a  short  time 
what  the  adventurer  would  never  have  done.  California, 
Oregon,  Idaho,  Montana  —  how  swiftly,  when  we  come 
to  counting  decades,  these  names  followed  upon  those  of 
Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  Ohio! 


The  Settlement  of  the  West 


PACK-TRAINS  MAKE  NEW   CITIES. 

New  cities  began  to  be  heard  of  in  this  mountain  trade, 
just  as  there  had  been  in  the  wagon  days  of  the  overland 
trail  to  Santa  Fe.  Pueblo,  Canon  City,  Denver,  all  were 
outfitting  and  freighting-points  in  turn,  while  from  the 
other  side  of  the  range  there  were  as  many  towns, —  Flor- 
ence, Walla  Walla,  Portland, —  which  sent  out  the  long 
trains  of  laden  mules  and  horses.  The  pack-train  was  as 
common  and  as  useful  as  the  stage  line  in  developing  the 
Black  Hills  region,  and  many  another  still  less  accessible. 

EARLY    WHEELED    TRANSPORTATION THE   STAGE-COACH. 

The  transportation  of  paddle  and  portage,  of  sawbuck 
saddle  and  panniers,  however,  could  not  forever  serve  ex- 


A  prairie  schooner. 


42  The  Westward  Movement 

cept  in  the  roughest  of  the  mountain-chains.  The  demand 
for  wheeled  vehicles  was  urgent,  and  the  supply  for  that  de- 
mand was  forthcoming  in  so  far  as  human  ingenuity  and 
resourcefulness  could  meet  it.  There  arose  masters  in 
transportation,  common  carriers  of  world-wide  fame.  The 
pony-express  was  a  wonderful  thing  in  its  way,  and  some 
of  the  old-time  stage  lines  which  first  began  to  run  out  into 
the  West  were  hardly  less  wonderful.  For  instance,  there 
was  an  overland  stage  line  that  ran  from  Atchison,  on  the 
Missouri  River,  across  the  plains,  and  up  into  Montana  by 
way  of  Denver  and  Salt  Lake  City.  It  made  the  trip  from 
Atchison  to  Helena,  nearly  two  thousand  miles,  in  twenty- 
two  days.  Down  the  old  waterways  from  the  placers  of 
Alder  Gulch  to  the  same  tov/n  of  Atchison  was  a  distance 
of  about  three  thousand  miles.  The  stage  line  began  to 
shorten  distances  and  lay  out  straight  lines,  so  that  now  the 
West  was  visited  by  vast  numbers  of  sight-seers,  tourists, 
investigators,  and  the  like,  in  addition  to  the  regular  popu- 
lation of  the  land,  the  men  who  called  the  West  their  home. 
We  should  find  it  difficult  now  to  return  to  stage-coach 
travel,  yet  in  its  time  it  was  thought  luxurious.  One  of 
the  United  States  Bank  examiners  of  that  time,  whose  duties 
took  him  into  the  Western  regions,  in  the  course  of  four- 
teen years  traveled  over  seventy-four  thousand  miles  by 
stage-coach  alone. 

DIFFICULTIES  OF  WAGON-TRAINS. 

One  who  has  never  seen  the  plains,  rivers,  rocks,  canons, 
and  mountains  of  the  portion  of  the  country  traversed  by 
these  caravans  can  form  but  a  faint  idea  from  any  de- 
scription given  of  them  of  the  innumerable  and  formidable 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  43 

difficulties  with  which  every  mile  of  this  weary  march  was 
.encumbered.  History  has  assigned  a  foremost  place  among 
its  glorified  deeds  to  the  passage  of  the  Alps  by  Napoleon, 
and  to  the  long  and  discouraging  march  of  the  French  army 
under  the  same  great  conqueror  to  Russia.  If  it  be  not  in- 
vidious to  compare  small  things  with  great,  we  may  assur- 
edly claim  for  these  early  pioneers  greater  conquests  over 
nature  than  were  made  by  either  of  the  great  military  ex- 
peditions of  Napoleon.  A  successful  completion  of  the 
journey  was  simply  an  escape  from  death. 

LIVING  EXPENSES  GOVERNED  BY  TRANSPORTATION. 

"  In  1865,"  comments  Mr.  Langford,  "  we  note  that 
the  principal  restaurant,  '  in  consequence  of  the  recent  fall 
in  flour,'  reduced  day  board  to  twenty  dollars  per  week  for 
gold.  The  food  of  this  restaurant  was  very  plain,  and 
dried-apple  pies  were  considered  a  luxury.  At  that  time  I 
was  collector  of  internal  revenue,  and  received  my  salary  in 
greenbacks.  I  paid  thirty-six  dollars  per  week  for  day 
board  at  the  Gibson  House,  at  Helena.  During  the  period 
of  the  greatest  scarcity  of  flour,  the  more  common  board- 
ing-houses posted  the  following  signs :  '  Board  with  bread 
at  meals,  $32 ;  board  without  bread,  $22 ;  board  with  bread 
at  dinner,  $25.' 

III.  ACROSS  THE  WATERS. 

The  early  American  life  was  primitive,  but  it  was  never 
the  life  of  a  peasantry.  Once  there  was  a  time  in  the 
West  when  every  man  was  as  good  as  his  neighbor,  as  well 
situated,  as  much  contented.  It  would  take  hardihood  to 
predict  such  conditions  in  the  future  for  the  West  or  for 
America. 


44  The  Westward  Movement 

BEGINNING    OF    WESTERN    RAILWAY    TRAVEL 

THE    AMERICAN     EMIGRE. 

At  the  half-way  point  of  this  century  the  early  wheels  of 
the  West  were  crawling  and  creaking  over  trails  where  now 
rich  cities  stand. 

FIRST    WESTERN    RAILWAY. 

The  wagon-wheels  had  overrun  the  West  before  the 
wheels  of  steam  began  the  second  conquest  of  the  West. 
Wagons  were  first  used  on  the  Santa  Fe  trail  in  1824,  but 
it  was  not  until  three  years  later  that  there  was  begun  the 
first  of  the  Western  iron  trails. 

There  were  grandfathers  in  Virginia  now,  grandfathers 
in  New  England.  The  subdivided  farms  were  not  so  large. 
There  were  more  shops  in  the  villages.  There  was  demand 
for  expansion  of  the  commerce  of  that  day.  The  little 
products  must  find  their  market,  and  that  market  might 
still  be  American.  The  raw  stuff  might  still  be  American, 
the  producer  of  it  might  still  be  American.  So  these  busy, 
thrifty,  ambitious  men  came  up  and  stood  back  of  the  van- 
guard that  held  the  flexible  frontier.  Silently  men  stole 
out  yet  farther  into  what  West  there  was  left;  but  they  al- 
ways looked  back  over  the  shoulder  at  this  new  thing  that 
had  come  upon  the  land. 

Thinking  men  knew,  half  a  century  ago,  that  there  must 
be  an  iron  way  across  the  United  States,  though  they  knew 
this  only  in  general  terms,  and  were  only  guessing  at  the 
changes  which  such  a  road  must  bring  to  the  country  at 
large. 

This  rapid  development  of  the  interior  region  of  America 
which  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge  to  all  of  us  to-day 


The  Settlement  of  the  West  45 

was  not  foreseen  by  the  wisest  of  the  prophets  of  fifty  years 
ago. 

THE   RAILWAYS    CHANGE    AND    BUILD   THE    COMMERCIAL 

WEST. 

With  the  era  of  steam  came  a  complete  reversal  of  all 
earlier  methods.  For  nearly  a  century  following  the  Revo- 
lutionary War  the  new  lands  of  America  had  waited  upon 
the  transportation.  Now  the  transportation  facilities  were 
to  overleap  history  and  to  run  in  advance  of  progress  itself. 
The  railroad  was  not  to  depend  upon  the  land,  but  the  land 
upon  the  railroad.  It  was  strong  faith  in  the  future  civi- 
lization which  enabled  capitalists  to  build  one  connected 
line  of  iron  from  Oregon  down  the  Pacific  coast,  thence 
east  of  the  mouth  of  the  Father  of  Waters,  in  all  over 
thirty-two  hundred  miles  of  rail.  Then  came  that  daring 
flight  of  the  Santa  Fe  across  the  seas  of  sand,  a  venture 
derided  as  folly  and  recklessness.  The  proof  you  may  find 
by  seeing  the  cities  that  have  grown,  the  fields  which  bear 
them  tribute.  North  and  South  and  East  and  West  the 
prairie  roads  run.  The  long  trail  of  the  cattle-drive  is 
gone,  and  the  cattle  no  longer  walk  a  thousand  miles  to 
pasture  or  to  market.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  the  continent 
was  spanned,  and  the  path  across  the  continent  laid  well  and 
laid  forever. 

The  largest,  the  most  compact,  and  the  most  closely  knit 
Caucasian  population  in  the  world  to-day,  is  that  of  Amer- 
ica, and  to-day  America  is  potentially  the  most  powerful  of 
all  the  world-powers.  Why?  Because  her  unit  of  popu- 
lation is  superior.  The  reason  for  that  you  may  find  your- 
self if  you  care  to  look  into  the  great  movements  of  the 
West-bound  population  of  America. 


THE  PONY  EXPRESS 
BY  W.  F.  BAILEY 

In  the  fall  of  1854,  United  States  Senator  W.  M.  Gwin 
of  California  made  the  trip  from  San  Francisco  east  en 
route  to  Washington,  D.  C,  on  horseback,  by  the  way  of 
Salt  Lake  City  and  South  Pass,  then  known  as  the  Central 
Route.  For  a  part  of  the  way  he  had  for  company  Mr. 
B.  F.  Ficklin,  the  general  superintendent  of  the  freighting 
firm  of  Russell,  Majors  &  Waddell. 

Out  of  this  traveling  companionship  grew  the  pony  ex- 
press. Mr.  Ficklin's  enthusiasm  for  closer  communication 
with  the  East  was  contagious,  and  Senator  Gwin  became 
an  untiring  advocate  of  an  express  service  via  this  route 
and  on  the  lines  suggested  by  Mr.  Ficklin. 

The  methods  of  this  firm  can  best  be  illustrated  by  the 
pledge  they  required  every  employee  to  sign,  namely : 
"While  in  the  employ  of  Russell,  Majors  &  Waddell,  I 
agree  not  to  use  profane  language,  not  to  get  drunk,  not 
to  gamble,  not  to  treat  animals  cruelly,  and  not  to  do  any- 
thing incompatible  with  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman,"  etc. 
After  the  war  broke  out,  a  pledge  of  allegiance  to  the 
United  States  was  also  required.  The  company  adhered, 
so  far  as  possible,  to  the  rule  of  not  traveling  on  Sunday 
and  of  avoiding  all  unnecessary  work  on  that  day.  A 
stanch  adherence  to  these  rules,  and  a  strict  observance  of 
their  contracts,  in  a  few  years  brought  them  the  control 
of  the  freighting  business  of  the  plains,  as  well  as  a  wide- 

46 


The  Pony  Express  47 

spread  reputation  for  conducting  it  on  a  reliable  and 
humane  basis. 

Committed  to  the  enterprise,  the  firm  proceeded  to  or- 
ganize the  Central  Overland  California  and  Pike's  Peak 
Express  Company,  obtaining  a  charter  under  the  State  laws 
of  Kansas. 

The  company  had  an  established  route  with  the  neces- 
sary stations  between  St.  Joseph  and  Salt  Lake  City. 
Chorpenning's  line  west  of  Salt  Lake  City  had  few  or  no 
stations,  and  these  had  to  be  built;  also  some  changes  in 
the  route  were  considered  advisable.  The  service  com- 
prised sixty  agile  young  men  as  riders,  one  hundred  ad- 
ditional station-keepers,  and  four  hundred  and  twenty 
strong,  wiry  horses.  So  well  did  those  in  charge  under- 
stand their  business  that  only  sixty  days  were  required  to 
make  all  necessary  arrangements  for  the  start.  April  3, 
1860,  was  the  date  agreed  upon,  and  on  that  day  the  first 
pony  express  left  St.  Joseph  and  San  Francisco.  In 
March,  1860,  the  following  advertisement  had  appeared  in 


Why  one  rider  was  late. 


48  The  Westward  Movement 

the  Missouri  Republican  of  St.  Louis  and  in  other 
papers : 

To  San  Francisco  in  8  days  by  the  C.  O.  C.  &  P.  P. 
Ex.  Co.  The  first  courier  of  the  Pony  Express  will  leave 

the  Missouri  River  on  Tuesday,  April  3rd,  at P.  M., 

and  will  run  regularly  weekly  hereafter,  carrying  a  letter 
mail  only.  The  point  on  the  Mo.  River  will  be  in  tele- 
graphic connection  with  the  east  and  will  be  announced  in 
due  time. 

Telegraphic  messages  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States 
and  Canada  in  connection  with  the  point  of  departure  will 
be  received  up  to  5  :oo  P.  M.  of  the  day  of  leaving  and  trans- 
mitted over  the  Placerville  &  St.  Jo  to  San  Francisco  and 
intermediate  points  by  the  connecting  express  in  8  days. 
The  letter  mail  will  be  delivered  in  San  Francisco  in  10 
days  from  the  departure  of  the  express.  The  express 
passes  through  Forts  Kearney,  Laramie,  Bridger,  Great 
Salt  Lake  City,  Camp  Floyd,  Carson  City,  The  Washoe 
Silver  Mines,  Placerville  and  Sacramento,  and  letters  for 
Oregon,  Washington  Territory,  British  Columbia,  the 
Pacific  Mexican  ports,  Russian  possessions,  Sandwich  Is- 
lands, China,  Japan  and  India  will  be  mailed  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

Both  Sacramento  and  San  Francisco  were  afire  -with  en- 
thusiasm, and  elaborate  plans  were  set  on  foot  to  welcome 
the  first  express.  At  the  former  point  the  whole  city 
turned  out  with  bells,  guns,  bands,  etc.,  to  greet  it.  Mak- 
ing only  a  brief  stop  to  deliver  the  mail  for  that  point, 
the  express  was  hurried  abroad  the  swift  steamer  Antelope, 
and  sent  forward  to  San  Francisco.  Here  its  prospective 


The  Pony  Express  49 

arrival  had  been  announced  by  the  papers,  and  also  from 
the  stages  of  the  theaters,  so  that  an  immense  as  well  as 
enthusiastic  crowd  awaited  its  arrival  at  midnight.  The 
California  Band  paraded;  the  fire-bells  were  rung,  bring- 
ing out  the  fire  companies,  who,  finding  no  fire,  remained 
to  join  in  the  jollity  and  to  swell  the  procession  which 
escorted  the  express  from  the  dock  to  the  office  of  the 
Alta  Telegraph,  its  Western  terminus. 

All  the  riders  were  young  men  selected  for  their  nerve, 
light  weight,  and  general  fitness.  No  effort  was  made  to 
uniform  them,  and  they  dressed  as  their  individual  fancy 
dictated,  the  usual  costume  being  a  buckskin  hunting-shirt, 
cloth  trousers  tucked  into  a  pair  of  high  boots,  and  a 
jockey-cap  or  slouch-hat.  All  rode  armed.  At  first  a 
Spencer  rifle  was  carried  strapped  across  the  back,  in  ad- 
dition to  a  pair  of  army  (Colt's)  revolvers  in  their  holsters. 
The  rifle,  however,  was  found  useless,  and  was  abandoned. 
The  equipment  of  the  horses  was  a  light  riding-saddle 
and  bridle,  with  the  saddle-bags,  or  mochila,  of  heavy 
leather.  These  had  holes  cut  in  them  so  that  they  would 
fit  over  the  horn  and  tree  of  the  saddle.  The  mochilas 
had  four  pockets,  called  cantinas,  one  in  each  corner,  so 
as  to  have  one  in  front  and  one  behind  each  leg  of  the 
rider;  in  these  the  mail  was  placed.  Three  of  these  pockets 
were  locked  and  opened  en  route  at  military  posts  and  at 
Salt  Lake  City,  and  under  no  circumstances  at  any  other 
place.  The  fourth  was  for  way-stations,  for  which  each 
station-keeper  had  a  key,  and  also  contained  a  way-bill,  or 
time-card,  on  which  a  record  of  arrival  and  departure  was 
kept.  The  same  mochila  was  transferred  from  pony  to 
pony  and  from  rider  to  rider  until  it  was  carried  from  one 
terminus  to  the  other.  The  letters,  before  being  placed  in 


50  The  Westward  Movement 

the  pockets,  were  wrapped  in  oiled  silk  to  preserve  them 
from  moisture.  The  maximum  weight  of  any  one  mail 
was  twenty  pounds;  but  this  was  rarely  reached.  The 


Wiping  out  a  station. 

charges  were  originally  $5  for  each  letter  of  one  half- 
ounce  or  less;  but  afterward  this  was  reduced  to  $2.50  for 
each  letter  not  exceeding  one  half-ounce,  this  being  in  ad- 
dition to  the  regular  United  States  postage.  Specially 
made  light-weight  paper  was  generally  used  to  reduce  the 
expense.  Special  editions  of  the  Eastern  newspapers  were 
printed  on  tissue-paper  to  enable  them  to  reach  sub- 
scribers on  the  Pacific  coast.  This,  however,  was  more 
as  an  advertisement,  there  being  little  demand  for  them  at 
their  necessarily  large  price. 

At  first,  stations  averaged  25  miles  apart,  and  each  rider 


The  Pony  Express  51 

covered  three  stations,  or  75  miles,  daily.  Later,  stations 
were  established  at  intermediate  points,  reducing  the  dis- 
tance between  them,  in  some  cases,  to  10  miles,  the  dis- 
tance between  stations  being  regulated  by  the  character  of 
the  country.  This  change  was  made  in  the  interest  of 
quicker  time,  it  having  been  demonstrated  that  horses 
could  not  be  kept  at  the  top  of  their  speed  for  so  great 
a  distance  as  25  miles.  At  the  stations,  relays  of  horses 
were  kept,  and  the  station-keeper's  duties  included  hav- 
ing a  pony  ready  bridled  and  saddled  half  an  hour  be- 
fore the  express  was  due.  Upon  approaching  a  station, 
the  rider  would  loosen  the  mochila  from  his  saddle,  so 
that  he  could  leap  from  his  pony  as  soon  as  he  reached  the 
station,  throw  the  mochila  over  the  saddle  of  the  fresh 
horse,  jump  on,  and  ride  off.  Two  minutes  was  the 
maximum  time  allowed  at  stations,  whether  it  was  to 
change  riders  or  horses.  At  relay-stations  where  riders 
were  changed  the  incoming  man  would  unbuckle  his 
mochila  before  arriving,  and  hand  it  to  his  successor,  who 
would  start  off  on  a  lope  as  soon  as  his  hand  grasped  it. 
Time  was  seldom  lost  at  stations.  Station-keepers  and 
relay-riders  were  always  on  the  lookout.  In  the  daytime 
the  pony  could  be  seen  for  a  considerable  distance,  and  at 
night  a  few  well-known  yells  would  bring  everything  into 
readiness  in  a  very  short  time.  As  a  rule,  the  riders  would 
do  75  miles  over  their  route  west-bound  one  day,  return- 
ing over  the  same  distance  with  the  first  east-bound  ex- 
press. 

Frequently,  through  the  exigencies  of  the  service,  they 
would  have  to  double  their  route  the  same  day,  or  ride  the 
one  next  to  them,  and  even  farther.  For  instance,  "  Buffalo 
Bill  "  (W.  F.  Cody)  for  a  while  had  the  route  from  Red 


52  The  Westward  Movement 

Buttes,  Wyoming,  to  Three  Crossings,  Nebraska,  a  dis- 
tance of  116  miles.  On  one  occasion,  on  reaching  Three 
Crossings,  he  found  that  the  rider  for  the  next  division 
had  been  killed  the  night  before,  and  he  was  called  upon 
to  cover  his  route,  76  miles,  until  another  rider  could  be 
employed.  This  involved  a  continuous  ride  of  384  miles 
without  break,  except  for  meals  and  to  change  horses. 
Again,  "  Pony  Bob,"  another  noted  rider,  covered  the  dis- 
tance from  Friday's  Station  to  Smith's  Creek,  185  miles, 
and  back,  including  the  trip  over  the  Sierra  Nevada,  twice, 
at  a  time  when  the  country  was  infested  by  hostile  In- 
dians. It  eventually  required,  when  the  service  got  into 
perfect  working  order,  190  stations,  200  station-keepers 
and  the  same  number  of  assistant  station-keepers,  80  riders, 
and  from  400  to  500  horses  to  cover  the  1950  miles  from 
St.  Joseph  to  Sacramento.  The  riders  were  paid  from 
$100  to  $125  per  month  for  their  services.  Located  about 
every  200  miles  were  division  agents  to  provide  for  emergen- 
cies, such  as  Indian  raids,  the  stampeding  of  stock,  etc., 
as  well  as  to  exercise  general  supervision  over  the  service. 
One,  and  probably  the  most  notorious,  of  these  was  Jack 
Slade,  of  unenviable  reputation.  For  a  long  time  he  was 
located  as  division  agent  at  the  crossing  of  the  Platte  near 
Fort  Kearney. 

The  riders  were  looked  up  to,  and  regarded  as  being 
"  at  the  top  of  the  heap."  No  matter  what  time  of  the 
day  or  of  the  night  they  were  called  upon,  whether  winter 
or  summer,  over  mountains  or  across  plains,  raining  or 
snowing,  with  rivers  to  swim  or  pleasant  prairies  to  cross, 
through  forests  or  over  the  burning  desert,  they  must  be 
ready  to  respond,  and,  though  in  the  face  of  hostiles,  ride 
their  beat  and  make  their  time.  To  be  late  was  their  only 


. 


An  incident  between  stations. 


54  The  Westward  Movement 

fear,  and  to  get  in  ahead  of  schedule  their  pride.  There 
was  no  killing  time  for  them,  under  any  circumstances. 
The  schedule  was  keyed  up  to  what  was  considered  the 
very  best  time  that  could  be  done,  and  a  few  minutes  gained 
on  it  might  be  required  to  make  up  for  a  fall  somewhere 
else.  First-class  horses  were  furnished,  and  there  were 
no  orders  against  bringing  them  in  in  a  sweat.  "  Make 
your  schedule,"  was  the  standing  rule.  While  armed  with 
the  most  effective  weapon  then  known,  the  Colt  revolver, 
they  were  not  expected  to  fight,  but  to  run  away.  Their 
weapons  were  to  be  used  only  in  emergencies. 

Considering  the  dangers  encountered,  the  percentage  of 
fatalities  was  extraordinarily  small.  Far  more  station  em- 
ployees than  riders  were  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  even 
of  the  latter  more  were  killed  off  duty  than  on.  This  can 
be  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  horses  furnished  the 
riders,  selected  as  they  were  for  speed  and  endurance,  were 
far  superior  to  the  mounts  of  the  Indians. 

Many  of  the  most  noted  of  the  frontiersmen  of  the  six- 
ties and  seventies  were  schooled  in  the  pony-express  service. 
The  life  was  a  hard  one.  Setting  aside  the  constant 
danger,  the  work  was  severe,  both  on  riders  and  station  em- 
ployees. The  latter  were  constantly  on  watch,  herding 
their  horses.  Their  diet  frequently  was  reduced  to  wolf- 
mutton,  their  beverage  to  brackish  water,  a  little  tea  or 
coffee  being  a  great  luxury,  while  the  lonesome  souls  were 
nearly  always  out  of  tobacco. 

The  great  feat  of  the  pony-express  service  was  the  de- 
livery of  President  Lincoln's  inaugural  address  in  1861. 
Great  interest  was  felt  in  this  all  over  the  land,  foreshad- 
owing as  it  did  the  policy  of  the  administration  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  Rebellion.  In  order  to  establish  a  record,  as 


The  Pony  Express 


55 


well  as  for  an  advertisement,  the  company  determined  to 
break  all  previous  records,  and  to  this  end  horses  were  led 
out  from  the  different  stations  so  as  to  reduce  the  distance 
each  would  have  to  run,  and  get  the  highest  possible  speed 
out  of  every  animal.  Each  horse  averaged  only  ten  miles, 
and  that  at  its  very  best  speed.  Every  precaution  was 
taken  to  prevent  delay,  and  the  result  stands  without  a  par- 
allel in  history ;  seven  days  and  seventeen  hours  —  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-five  hours  —  for  1950  miles,  an  average  of 
10.7  miles  per  hour.  From  St.  Joseph  to  Denver,  665  miles 
were  made  in  two  days  and  twenty-one  hours,  the  last  ic 
miles  being  accomplished  in  thirty-one  minutes. 


Facsimile  of  letter  sent  by  pony-express. 


EARLY  WESTERN  STEAMBOATING 
BY  ARCHER  BUTLER  HULBERT    . 

In  the  study  of  waterways  of  westward  expansion,  the 
Ohio  River  —  the  "  Gateway  of  the  West  "•  -  occupies  such 
a  commanding  position  that  it  must  be  considered  most 
important  and  most  typical.  Such  is  its  situation  in  our 
geography  and  history  that  it  is  entitled  to  a  prominent 
place  among  Historic  Highways  of  America  which  greatly 
influenced  the  early  westward  extension  of  the  borders  and 
the  people  of  the  United  States. 

The  Ohio  River  was  the  highway  upon  which  all  the 
great  early  continental  routes  focused.  Washington's 
Road,  Braddock's  Road,  Forbes'  Road,  and  Boone's  Road 
—  like  the  Indian  and  buffalo  trails  they  followed  —  had 
their  goal  on  the  glories  of  this  strategic  waterway.  The 
westward  movement  was  by  river  valleys. 

The  dawning  of  the  era  of  steam  navigation  cannot  be 
better  introduced  than  by  quoting  a  paragraph  from  The 
Navigator  of  1811. 

"  There  is  now  on  foot  a  new  mode  of  navigating  our 
western  waters,  particularly  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  Riv- 
ers. This  is  with  boats  propelled  by  the  power  of  steam. 
This  plan  has  been  carried  into  successful  operation  on  the 
Hudson  River  at  New  York  and  on  the  Delaware  between 
New  Castle  and  Burlington.  It  has  been  stated  that  the 

56 


Early  Western  Steamboating  57 

one  on  the  Hudson  goes  at  the  rate  of  four  miles  an  hour 
against  wind  and  tide  on  her  route  between  New  York  and 
Albany,  and  frequently  with  500  passengers  on  board. 
From  these  successful  experiments  there  can  be  little 
doubt  of  the  plan  succeeding  on  our  western  waters,  and 
proving  of  immense  advantage  to  the  commerce  of  our 
country." 

These  words  came  true  in  a  miraculously  short  space  of 
time.  In  1811  the  first  steamboat  was  constructed  at 
Brownsville.  Pennsylvania,  on  the  Monongahela.  Several 
others  were  built  soon  after,  but  it  was  probably  fifteen 
years  before  steamboats  came  into  such  general  use  as  to 
cause  any  diminution  in  the  flat  and  keel-boat  navigation. 

By  1832  it  was  calculated  that  the  whole  number  of 
persons  deriving  subsistence  on  the  Ohio  including  the 
crews  of  steam-  and  flat-boats,  mechanics  and  laborers  em- 
ployed in  building  and  repairing  boats,  woodcutters  and 
persons  employed  in  furnishing,  supplying,  loading  and  un- 
loading these  boats,  was  ninety  thousand.  At  this  time, 
1832,  the  boats  numbered  four  hundred  and  fifty  and  their 
burden  ninety  thousand  tons.  In  1843  the  whole  number 
of  steamboats  constructed  at  Cincinnati  alone  was  forty- 
five;  the  aggregate  amount  of  their  tonnage  was  twelve 
thousand  and  thirty  tons  and  their  cost  $705,000.  This 
gives  an  average  of  about  two  hundred  and  sixty-seven 
tons  for  each  boat  and  about  $16,000  for  the  cost  of  each. 

In  1844  the  number  of  steamboats  employed  in  navi- 
gating the  Mississippi  and  its  tributaries  was  two  hundred 
and  fifty.  The  average  burden  of  these  boats  was  200  tons 
each  and  their  aggregate  value,  at  $80  per  ton,  was  $7,200,- 
ooo.  Many  of  these  were  fine  vessels,  affording  most  com- 
fortable accommodations  for  passengers,  and  compared  fa- 


58  The  Westward  Movement 

vorably  in  all  particulars  with  the  best  packets  in  any  part 
of  the  world.  The  number  of  persons  employed  in  navi- 
gating the  steamboats  at  this  time  varied  from  twenty-five 
to  fifty  for  each  boat,  a  total  of  15,750  persons  employed. 
If,  in  1834,  the  number  of  steamboats  on  western  waters 
was  two  hundred  and  thirty,  the  expense  of  running  them 


Early   steamboating  on   a   western   river. 

could  be  estimated  at  $4,645,000  annually.  In  1844  the 
calculation  was  $9,036,000.  ...  It  appears  that  the 
steamboat  tonnage  of  the  Mississippi  valley  at  this  time  ex- 
ceeded, by  forty  thousand  tons,  the  entire  steamboat  ton- 
nage of  Great  Britain  in  1834.  In  other  words,  the  steam- 
boat tonnage  of  Great  Britain  was  only  two-thirds  that  of 
the  Mississippi  Valley.  The  magnitude  of  this  fact  will 
be  best  appreciated  by  considering  that  the  entire  tonnage 
of  the  United  States  was  but  two-thirds  that  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, showing  that  this  proportion  is  exactly  reversed  in 
western  steamboat  trade. 

The  history  of  the  Ohio  Basin  river-men,  from  those 
who  paddled  a  canoe  and  pushed  a  keelboat  to  those  who 
labor  to-day  on  our  steamboats,  has  never  been  written. 
The  lights  and  shades  of  this  life  have  never  been  pictured 
by  any  novelist  and  perhaps  they  never  can  be. 


, 


Early  Western  Steamboating  59 

The  first  generation  of  river  men,  excluding,  of  course, 
;he  Indians,  would  cover  the  years  from  1750  to  1780  and 
would  include  those  whose  principal  acquaintance  with  the 
Ohio  and  its  tributaries  was  made  through  the  canoe  and 
pirogue.  The  second  generation  would  stretch  from  1780 
or  1790  to  1810,  and  would  include  those  who  lived  in  the 
heycley  of  the  keel-  and  flat-boat.  The  third  generation 
would  carry  us  forward  from  1810  to  about  1850  and  in  this 
we  would  count  the  thousands  who  knew  these  valleys  be- 
fore the  railway  had  robbed  the  steamboat  of  so  much  of 
its  business  and  pride. 

River  life  underwent  a  great  change  with  the  gradual 
supremacy  of  the  steamboat  in  the  carrying  trade  of  the 
Ohio  and  its  tributaries.  The  sounding  whistle  blew  away 
from  the  valleys  much  that  was  picturesque  —  those  stren- 
uous days  when  a  well-developed  muscle  was  the  best  cap- 
ital with  which  to  begin  business.  Of  course  the  flatboat 
did  not  pass  from  the  waters,  but  as  a  type  of  old-time  river- 
men  their  lusty  crews  have  disappeared. 

In  connection  with  the  first  generation  of  river-men  so- 
cial equality  was  a  general  rule.  There  were  no  distinc- 
tions ;  every  man  was  his  own  master  and  his  own  servant. 
In  the  days  of  keel-boats  and  flatboats  conditions  changed 
and  there  was  a  "  captain  "  of  his  boat,  and  the  second 
generation  of  river-men  were  accustomed  to  obey  orders  of 
superiors.  Society  was  divided  into  two  classes,  the  serv- 
ing and  the  served.  With  the  supremacy  of  the  steam- 
boat this  division  is  reduplicated  over  and  again;  here  are 
four  general  classes,  the  proprietors,  navigators,  operators 
and  deck-hands. 

The  upper  ranks  of  the  steam-packet  business  have  fur- 


60  The  Westward  Movement 

nished  the  West  with  some  of  its  strongest  types  of  ag- 
gressive manhood.  Keen-eyed,  physically  strong,  ac- 
quainted with  men  and  equal  to  any  emergency,  the  typical 
captain  of  the  first  half-century  of  steamboating  in  the 
West,  was  a  man  any  one  was  glad  to  number  among  his 
friends  and  acquaintances. 


GEORGE  ROGERS  CLARK  AND  THE  CONQUEST 
OF  THE  NORTHWEST 

BY  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

In  1776,  when  independence  was  declared,  the  United 
States  included  only  the  thirteen  original  States  on  the  sea- 
board. With  the  exception  of  a  few  hunters  there  were 
no  white  men  west  of  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  and  there 
was  not  even  an  American  hunter  in  the  great  country  out 
of  which  we  have  since  made  the  States  of  Illinois,  Indiana, 
Ohio,  Michigan,  and  Wisconsin.  All  this  region  north  of 
the  Ohio  River  then  formed  a  part  of  the  Province  of 
Quebec.  It  was  a  wilderness  of  forests  and  prairies,  teem- 
ing with  game,  and  inhabited  by  many  warlike  tribes  of 
Indians. 

Here  and  there  through  it  were  dotted  quaint  little 
towns  of  French  Creoles,  the  most  important  being  De- 
troit, Vincennes  on  the  Wabash,  and  Kaskaskia  and  Kaho- 
kia  on  the  Illinois.  These  French  villages  were  ruled  by 
British  officers  commanding  small  bodies  of  regular  soldiers 
or  Tory  rangers  and  Creole  partizans.  The  towns  were 
completely  in  the  power  of  the  British  government;  none  of 
the  American  States  had  actual  possession  of  a  foot  of  prop- 
erty in  the  Northwestern  Territory. 

The  Northwest  was  acquired  in  the  midst  of  the  Revo- 
lution only  by  armed  conquest,  and  if  it  had  not  been  so 
acquired,  it  would  have  remained  a*  part  of  the  British  Do- 
minion of  Canada. 

61 


62 


The  Westward  Movement 


George  Rogers  Clark. 


The  man  to  whom  this 
conquest  was  due  was  a- 
famous  backwoods  leader, 
a  mighty  hunter,  a  noted 
Indian-fighter,  George  Rog- 
ers Clark.  He  was  a  very 
strong  man,  with  light  hair 
and  blue  eyes.  He  was 
of  good  Virginian  family. 
Early  in  his  youth,  he  em- 
barked on  the  adventurous 
career  of  a  backwoods  sur- 
veyor, exactly  as  Washing- 
ton and  so  many  other  young 
Virginians  of  spirit  did  at  that  period.  He  traveled  out 
to  Kentucky  soon  after  it  was  founded  by  Boone,  and 
lived  there  for  a  year,  either  at  the  stations  or  camping 
by  himself  in  the  woods,  surveying,  hunting,  and  making 
war  against  the  Indians  like  any  other  settler;  but  all 
the  time  his  mind  was  bent  on  vaster  schemes  than  were 
dreamed  of  by  the  men  around  him.  He  had  his  spies 
out  in  the  Northwestern  Territory,  and  became  convinced 
that  with  a  small  force  of  resolute  backwoodsmen  he 
could  conquer  it  for  the  United  States.  When  he  went 
back  to  Virginia,  Governor  Patrick  Henry  entered  heartily 
into  Clark's  schemes  and  gave  him  authority  to  fit  out  a 
force  for  his  purpose. 

In  1778,  after  encountering  endless  difficulties  and  de- 
lays, he  finally  raised  a  hundred  and  fifty  backwoods  rifle- 
men. In  May  they  started  down  the  Ohio  in  flatboats  to 
undertake  the  allotted  task.  They  drifted  and  rowed 
downstream  to  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio,  where  Clark  founded 


George  Rogers  Clark  63 

a  log-hamlet,  which  has  since  become  the  great  city  of 
Louisville. 

Here  he  halted  for  some  days  and  was  joined  by  fifty 
or  sixty  volunteers ;  but  a  number  of  the  men  deserted,  and 
when,  after  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  Clark  again  pushed  off 
to  go  down  with  the  current,  his  force  was  but  about  one 
hundred  and  sixty  riflemen.  All,  however,  were  men  on 
whom  he  could  depend  —  men  well  used  to  frontier  war- 
fare. They  were  tall,  stalwart  backwoodsmen,  clad  in  the 
hunting-shirt  and  leggings  that  formed  the  national  dress 
of  their  kind,  and  armed  with  the  distinctive  weapon  of 
the  backwoods,  the  long-barreled,  small-bore  rifle. 

Before  reaching  the  Mississippi  the  little  flotilla  landed, 
and  Clark  led  his  men  northward  against  the  Illinois  towns. 
In  one  of  them,  Kaskaskia,  dwelt  the  British  commander 
of  the  entire  district  up  to  Detroit.  The  small  garrison 
and  the  Creole  militia  taken  together  outnumbered  Clark's 
force,  and  they  were  in  close  alliance  with  the  Indians 
roundabout.  Clark  was  anxious  to  take  the  town  by  sur- 
prise and  avoid  bloodshed,  as  he  believed  he  could  win  over 
the  Creoles  to  the  American  side.  Marching  cautiously 
by  night  and  generally  hiding  by  day,  he  came  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  little  village  on  the  evening  of  July  4th,  and 
lay  in  the  woods  near  by  until  after  nightfall. 

Fortune  favored  him.  That  evening  the  officers  of  the 
garrison  had  given  a  great  ball  to  the  mirth-loving  Cre- 
oles, and  almost  the  entire  population  of  the  village  had 
gathered  in  the  fort,  where  the  dance  was  held.  While 
the  revelry  was  at  its  height,  Clark  and  his  tall  backwoods- 
men, treading  silently  through  the  darkness,  came  into  the 
town,  surprised  the  sentries,  and  surrounded  the  fort  with- 
out causing  any  alarm. 


64  The  Westward  Movement 

All  the  British  and  French  capable  of  bearing  arms  were 
gathered  in  the  fort  to  take  part  in  or  look  on  at  the  merry- 
making. When  his  men  were  posted  Clark  walked  boldly 
forward  through  the  open  door,  and,  leaning  against  the 
wall,  looked  at  the  dancers  as  they  whirled  around  in  the 
light  of  the  flaring  torches.  For  some  moments  no  one 
noticed  him.  Then  an  Indian  who  had  been  lying  with  his 
chin  on  his  hand,  looking  carefully  over  the  gaunt  figure 
of  the  stranger,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  uttered  the  wild 
war-whoop.  Immediately  the  dancing  ceased  and  the  men 
ran  to  and  fro  in  confusion;  but  Clark,  stepping  forward, 
bade  them  be  at  their  ease,  but  to  remember  that  hence- 
forth they  danced  under  the  flag  of  the  United  States,  and 
not  under  that  of  Great  Britain. 

The  surprise  was  complete,  and  no  resistance  was  at- 
tempted. For  twenty-four  hours  the  Creoles  were  in  ab- 
ject terror.  Then  Clark  summoned  their  chief  men  together 
and  explained  that  he  came  as  their  ally,  and  not  as  their 
foe,  and  that  if  they  would  join  with  him  they  should  be 
citizens  of  the  American  republic,  and  treated  in  all  re- 
spects on  an  equality  with  their  comrades.  The  Creoles, 
caring  little  for  the  British,  and  rather  fickle  of  nature,  ac- 
cepted the  proposition  with  joy,  and  with  the  most  enthu- 
siastic loyalty  toward  Clark.  Not  only  that,  but  sending 
messengers  to  their  kinsmen  on  the  Wabash,  they  persuaded 
the  people  of  Vincennes  likewise  to  cast  off  their  allegiance 
to  the  British  king,  and  to  hoist  the  American  flag. 

So  far,  Clark  had  conquered  with  greater  ease  than  he 
had  dared  to  hope.  But  when  the  news  reached  the  British 
governor,  Hamilton,  at  Detroit,  he  at  once  prepared  to  re- 
conquer the  land.  He  had  much  greater  forces  at  his  com- 
mand than  Clark  had ;  and  in  the  fall  of  that  year  he  came 


"  All  the  day  long  the  troops  waded  in  icy  water." 


66  The  Westward  Movement 

down  to  Vincennes  by  stream  and  portage,  in  a  great  fleet 
of  canoes  bearing  five  hundred  fighting  men  —  British  reg- 
ulars, French  partizans,  and  Indians.  The  Vincennes  Cre- 
oles refused  to  fight  against  the  British,  and  the  American 
officer  who  had  been  sent  thither  by  Clark  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  surrender. 

If  Hamilton  had  then  pushed  on  and  struck  Clark  in 
Illinois,  having  more  than  treble  Clark's  force,  he  could 
hardly  have  failed  to  win  the  victory ;  but  the  season  was 
late  and  the  journey  so  difficult  that  he  did  not  believe  it 
could  be  taken.  Accordingly  he  disbanded  the  Indians 
and  sent  some  of  his  troops  back  to  Detroit,  announcing 
that  when  spring  came  he  would  march  against  Clark  in 
Illinois. 

If  Clark  in  turn  had\  awaited  the  blow  he  would  have 
surely  met  defeat;  but  he  was  a  greater  man  than  his  antag- 
onist, and  he  did  what  the  other  deemed  impossible. 

Finding  that  Hamilton  had  sent  home  some  of  his  troops 
and  dispersed  all  his  Indians,  Clark  realized  that  his  chance 
was  to  strike  before  Hamilton's  soldiers  assembled  again 
in  the  spring.  Accordingly  he  gathered  together  the  pick 
of  his  men,  together  with  a  few  Creoles,  one  hundred  and 
seventy  all  told,  and  set  out  for  Vincennes.  At  first  the 
journey  was  easy  enough,  for  they  passed  across  the  snowy 
Illinois  prairies,  broken  by  great  reaches  of  lofty  woods. 
They  killed  elk,  buffalo  and  deer  for  food,  there  being  no 
difficulty  in  getting  all  they  wanted  to  eat ;  and  at  night  they 
built  huge  fires  by  which  to  sleep,  and  feasted  "  like  Indian 
war-dancers,"  as  Clark  said  in  his  report. 

But  when,  in  the  middle  of  February,  they  reached  the 
drowned  lands  of  the  Wabash,  where  the  ice  had  just 
broken  up  and  everything  was  flooded,  the  difficulties 


George  Rogers  Clark  67 

seemed  almost  insuperable,  and  the  march  became  painful 
and  laborious  to  a  degree.  All  day  long  the  troops  waded 
in  the  icy  water,  and  at  night  they  could  with  difficulty  find 
some  little  hillock  on  which  to  sleep.  Only  Clark's  indom- 
itable courage  and  cheerfulness  kept  the  party  in  heart  and 
enabled  them  to  persevere.  However,  persevere  they  did, 
and  at  last,  on  February  23,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  town 
of  Vincennes.  They  captured  a  Creole  who  was  out  shoot- 
ing ducks,  and  from  him  learned  that  their  approach  was 
utterly  unsuspected,  and  that  there  were  many  Indians  in 
town. 

Clark  was  now  in  some  doubt  as  to  how  to  make  his 
fight.  The  British  regulars  dwelt  in  a  small  fort  at  one 
end  of  the  town,  where  they  had  two  light  guns ;  but  Clark 
feared  lest,  if  he  made  a  sudden  night  attack,  the  towns- 
people and  Indians  would  from  sheer  fright  turn  against 
him.  He  accordingly  arranged,  just  before  he  himself 
marched  in,  to  send  in  the  captured  duck-hunter,  conveying 
a  warning  to  the  Indians  and  the  Creoles  that  he  was  about 
to  attack  the  town,  but  that  his  only  quarrel  was  with  the 
British,  and  that  if  the  other  inhabitants  would  stay  in 
their  own  homes  they  would  not  be  molested. 

Sending  the  duck-hunter  ahead,  Clark  took  up  his  march 
and  entered  the  town  just  after  nightfall.  The  news  con- 
veyed by  the  released  hunter  astounded  the  townspeople, 
and  they  talked  it  over  eagerly,  and  were  in  doubt  what  to 
do.  The  Indians,  not  knowing  how  great  might  be  the 
force  that  would  assail  the  town,  at  once  took  refuge  in  the 
neighboring  woods,  while  the  Creoles  retired  to  their  own 
houses.  The  British  knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened 
until  the  Americans  had  actually  entered  the  streets  of  the 
little  village.  Rushing  forward,  Clark's  men  soon  penned 


68  The  Westward  Movement 

the  regulars  within  their  fort,  where  they  kept  them  sur- 
rounded all  night.  The  next  day  a  party  of  Indian  war- 
riors, who  in  the  British  interest  had  been  ravaging  the 
settlements  of  Kentucky,  arrived  and  entered  the  town,  ig- 
norant that  the  Americans  had  captured  it.  Marching 
boldly  forward  to  the  fort,  they  suddenly  found  it  belea- 
guered, and  before  they  could  flee  they  were  seized  by  the 
backwoodsmen.  In  their  belts  they  carried  the  scalps  of 
the  slain  settlers.  The  savages  were  taken  red-handed,  and 
the  American  frontiersmen  were  in  no  mood  to  show  mercy. 
All  the  Indians  were  tomahawked  in  sight  of  the  fort. 

For  some  time  the  British  defended  themselves  well ; 
but  at  length  their  guns  were  disabled,  all  of  the  gunners 
being  picked  off  by  the  backwoods  marksmen,  and  finally 
the  garrison  dared  not  so  much  as  appear  at  a  port-hole,  so 
deadly  was  the  fire  from  the  long  rifles.  Under  such  cir- 
cumstances Hamilton  was  forced  to  surrender. 

No  attempt  was  afterward  made  to  molest  the  Americans 
in  the  land  they  had  won,  and  upon  the  conclusion  of  peace 
the  Northwest,  which  had  been  conquered  by  Clark,  became 
part  of  the  United  States. 


BOONE'S  WILDERNESS  ROAD 
BY  ARTHUR  BUTLER  HULBERT 

Our  highways  are  usually  known  by  two  names  —  the 
destinations  to  which  they  lead.  The  famous  highway 
through  New  York  State  is  known  as  the  Genesee  Road  in 
the  eastern  half  of  the  State  and  as  the  Albany  Road  in 
the  western  portion.  In  a  number  of  cities  through  which 
it  passes  —  Utica,  Syracuse,  etc., —  it  is  Genesee  Street. 
This  path  in  the  olden  time  was  the  great  road  to  the  famed 
Genesee  country.  The  old  Forbes  Road  across  Pennsyl- 
vania soon  lost  its  earliest  name.  .  .  .  Few  roads 
named  from  their  builders  preserved  the  old-time  name. 

One  roadway  —  the  Wilderness  Road  to  Kentucky  from 
Virginia  and  Tennessee,  the  longest,  blackest,  hardest  road 
of  pioneer  days  in  America  —  holds  the  old-time  name  with 
undiminished  loyalty  and  is  true  to-day  to  every  gloomy 
description  and  wild  epithet  that  was  ever  written  or  spo- 
ken of  it.  It  was  broken  open  for  white  man's  use  by 
Daniel  Boone  from  the  Watauga  settlement  on  the  Hol- 
ston  River,  Tennessee,  to  the  mouth  of  Otter  Creek,  on  the 
Kentucky  River,  in  the  month  preceding  the  outbreak  of 
open  revolution  at  Lexington  and  Concord.  It  was  known 
as  "  Boone's  Trail,"  the  "  Kentucky  Road,"  the  "  road  to 
Caintuck  "  or  the  "  Virginia  Road,"  but  its  common  name 
was  the  "  Wilderness  Road."  It  seems  right  that  the  brave 
frontiersman  who  opened  this  road  to  white  men  should  be 
remembered  by  this  act. 

69 


JO  The  Westward  Movement 

The  road  itself  is  of  little  consequence  —  it  is  what  the 
early  founding  of  the  commonwealth  of  Kentucky  meant  to 
the  East  and  to  the  West.  When  the  armies  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary War  are  counted,  that  first  army  of  twenty-five 
thousand  men,  women,  and  children  which  hurried  over 
Boone's  little  path,  through  dark  Powel's  Valley,  over  the 
"  high-swung  gateway "  of  Cumberland  Gap  and  down 
through  the  laurel  wilderness  to  Crab  Orchard,  Danville, 
Lexington,  and  Louisville,  must  not  be  forgotten.  No  army 
ever  meant  more  to  the  West. 

It  was,  throughout  the  eighteenth  century,  exceedingly 
dangerous  to  travel  Boone's  Road;  and  those  who  jour- 
neyed either  way  joined  together  and  traveled  in  "  com- 
panies." Indeed,  there  was  risk  enough  for  the  most 
daring,  in  any  case;  but  a  well-armed  "  company  "  of  tried 
pioneers  on  Boone's  Road  was  a  dangerous  game  on  which 
to  prey.  It  was  customary  to  advertise  the  departure  of 
a  company  either  from  Virginia  or  Kentucky,  in  local  pa- 
pers, in  order  that  any  desiring  to  make  the  journey  might 
know  of  the  intended  departure.  The  principal  rendezvous 
in  Kentucky  was  the  frontier  settlement  of  Crab  Orchard. 
Certain  of  these  advertisements  are  extremely  interesting; 
the  verbal  changes  are  significant  if  closely  read: 

NOTICE 

Is  hereby  given,  that  a  company  will  meet  at  the  Crab  Orchard, 
on  Sunday  the  4th  day  of  May  (1788),  to  go  through  the  Wilder- 
ness, and  to  set  out  on  the  5th,  at  which  time  most  of  the  Delegates 
to  the  State  convention  will  go. 

A  large  company  will  meet  at  the  Crab  Orchard  on  Sunday  the 
25th  of  May,  in  order  to  make  an  early  start  on  Monday  the  26th 
through  the  Wilderness  for  the  old  settlement. 


Boone's  Wilderness  Road  71 

A  large  company  will  meet  at  the  Crab  Orchard  on  the  I5th  of 
May,  in  readiness  to  start  on  the  i6th  through  the  Wilderness  for 
Richmond. 

NOTICE 

Is  hereby  given  that  several  gentlemen  propose  meeting  at  the 
Crab  Orchard  on  the  4th  of  June  in  perfect  readiness  to  move 
early  the  next  morning  through  the  Wilderness. 

NOTICE 

A  large  company  will  meet  at  the  Crab  Orchard  the  ipth  of 
November  in  order  to  start  the  next  day  through  the  Wilderness. 
As  it  is  very  dangerous  on  account  of  the  Indians,  it  is  hoped  each 
person  will  go  well  armed. 

It  appears  that  unarmed  persons  sometimes  attached  them- 
selves to  companies  and  relied  on  others  to  protect  them 
in  times  of  danger.  One  advertisement  urged  that  every 
one  should  go  armed  and  "  not  to  depend  upon  others  to 
defend  them." 

The  frequency  of  the  departure  of  such  companies  sug- 
gests the  great  amount  of  travel  on  Boone's  Road.  As 
early  as  1788  parties  were  advertised  to  leave  Crab  Orchard 
May  5,  May  15,  May  26,  June  4  and  June  16.  Nor  does 
it  seem  that  there  was  much  abatement  during  the  more  in- 
clement months;  in  the  fall  of  the  year  companies  were  ad- 
vertised to  depart  November  19,  December  9  and  December 
19.  Yet  at  this  season  the  Indians  were  often  out  waylay- 
ing travelers  —  driven,  no  doubt,  by  hunger  to  deeds  of 
desperation.  The  sufferings  of  such  red-skinned  maraud- 
ers have  found  little  place  in  history;  but  they  are,  never- 
theless, suggestive.  One  story  is  to  the  point. 

In  the  winter  of  1787-88  a  party  on  Boone's  Road  was 
attacked  by  Indians  not  far  from  the  Kentucky  border. 
Their  horses  were  plundered  of  goods,  but  the  travelers 


72  The  Westward  Movement 

escaped.  Hurrying  in  to  the  settlement  a  company  was 
raised  to  make  a  pursuit.  By  their  tracks  in  the  snow  the 
Indians  were  accurately  followed.  They  were  overtaken 
at  a  camp  where  they  were  drying  their  blankets  before  a 
great  fire.  At  the  first  charge,  the  savages,  completely 
surprised,  took  to  their  heels  —  stark  naked.  Not  satisfied 
with  recovering  their  goods,  the  Kentuckians  pursued  the 
fugitives  into  the  mountains,  where  the  awful  fate  of  the 
savages  is  unquestionable. 

Before  Richard  Henderson  arrived  in  Kentucky  Daniel 
Boone  wrote  him :  "  My  advice  to  you,  sir,  is  to  come  or 
send  as  soon  as  possible.  Your  company  is  desired  greatly, 
for  the  people  are  very  uneasy,  but  are  willing  to  stay  and 
venture  their  lives  with  you,  and  now  is  the  time  to  flustrate 
the  intentions  of  the  Indians,  and  keep  the  country  whilst 
we  are  in  it.  If  we  give  way  to  them  now,  it  will  be  ever 
the  case." 

This  letter  shows  plainly  how  the  best  informed  man  in 
Kentucky  regarded  the  situation. 

What  it  meant  to  the  American  Colonies  during  the  Rev- 
olution to  have  a  brave  band  of  pioneers  in  Kentucky  at 
that  crucial  epoch,  is  an  important  chapter  in  the  history  of 
Boone's  Road. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  leaders  of  civilization  in 
the  West  were  true  Americans  —  American  born  and 
American  bred.  It  was  a  race  of  Americanized  Britons 
who  pressed  from  Virginia  to  the  West.  Hardly  a  name 
among  them  but  was  pure  Norman  or  Saxon.  Of  the 
twenty-five  members  of  the  Political  Club  at  Danville,  Ken- 
tucky, which  discussed  with  ability  the  Federal  Constitu- 
tion, all  but  two  were  descendants  of  colonists  from  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland.  Of  forty-five  members  of  the  con- 


Boone's  Wilderness  Road  73 

vention  which  framed  Kentucky's  first  constitution,  only 
three  could  claim  Continental  ancestry. 

This  race  gave  to  the  West  its  real  heroes.  In  frontier 
cabins  they  were  bred  to  a  free  life  in  a  free  land  —  worthy 
successors  to  Washington  and  his  school,  worthy  men  to 
subdue  and  rule  the  empire  of  which  they  began  the  con- 
quest. In  the  form  of  these  sturdy  colonizers  the  Ameri- 
can republic  stretched  its  arm  across  the  Appalachian  Moun- 
tain system  and  took  in  its  grasp  the  richest  river  valley 
in  the  world  at  the  end  of  Boone's  Wilderness  Road. 

Yet  the  road  itself  was  only  what  Boone  made  it  —  a 
blazed  footpath  westward.  It  was  but  the  merest  foot- 
path from  1774  to  1792,  while  thousands  floundered  over 
its  uncertain  track  to  lay  the  rude  foundations  of  civiliza- 
tion in  the  land  to  which  it  led.  There  was  probably  not 
a  more  desperate  pioneer  road  in  America  than  this.  The 
mountains  to  be  crossed,  the  rivers  and  swamps  to  be  en- 
countered, were  as  difficult  as  any  on  Braddock's  Road ;  and 
Boone's  Road  was  very  much  longer. 

A  vivid  description  of  what  a  journey  over  it  meant  in 
the  year  1779  has  been  left  by  Chief-Justice  Robertson  in 
an  address  given  half  a  century  ago: 

"  During  the  fall  and  winter  of  that  year  came  an  unex- 
ampled tide  of  emigrants,  who,  exchanging  all  the  comforts 
of  their  native  society  and  homes  for  settlements  for  them- 
selves and  their  children  here,  came  like  pilgrims  to  a  wil- 
derness to  be  made  secure  by  their  arms  and  habitable  by 
the  toil  of  their  lives.  Through  privations  incredible  and 
perils  thick,  thousands  of  men,  women  and  children  came 
in  successive  caravans,  forming  continuous  streams  of  hu- 
man beings,  horses,  cattle  and  other  domestic  animals  all 
moving  onward  along  a  lonely  and  houseless  path  to  a  wild 


74  The  Westward  Movement 

and  cheerless  land.  Cast  your  eyes  back  on  that  long  pro- 
cession of  missionaries  in  the  cause  of  civilization;  be- 
hold the  men  on  foot  with  their  trusty  guns  on  their  shoul- 
ders, driving  stock  and  leading  pack-horses;  and  the 
women,  some  walking  with  pails  on  their  heads,  others 
riding  with  children  in  their  laps,  and  other  children  swung 
in  baskets  on  horses,  fastened  to  the  tails  of  others  going 
before ;  see  them  encamped  at  night  expecting  to  be  mas- 
sacred by  Indians;  behold  them  in  the  month  of  December, 
in  that  ever-memorable  season  of  unprecedented  cold,  called 
the  '  hard  winter,'  traveling  two  or  three  miles  a  day,  fre- 
quently in  danger  of  being  frozen  or  killed  by  the  falling 
of  horses  on  the  icy  and  almost  impassable  trace,  and  sub- 
sisting on  stinted  allowances  of  stale  bread  and  meat;  but 
now  lastly  look  at  them  at  the  destined  fort,  perhaps  on 
the  eve  of 'merry  Christmas,  when  met  by  the  hearty  wel- 
come of  friends  who  had  come  before,  and  cheered  by 
fresh  buffalo  meat  and  parched  corn,  they  rejoice  at  their 
deliverance  and  resolve  to  be  contented  with  their  lot. 

"  This  is  no  vision  of  the  imagination,  it  is  but  an  imper- 
fect description  of  the  pilgrimage  of  my  own  father  and 
mother." 


DANIEL  BOONE 
AND  THE  FOUNDING  OF  KENTUCKY 

BY  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

Daniel  Boone  will  always  occupy  a  unique  place  in  our 
history  as  the  archetype  of  the  hunter  and  wilderness  wan- 
derer. He  was  a  true  pioneer,  and  stood  at  the  head  of 
that  class  of  Indian-fighters,  game-hunters,  forest-fellers, 
and  backwoods  farmers  who,  generation  after  generation, 
pushed  westward  the  border  of  civilization  from  the  Alle- 
ghanies  to  the  Pacific.  As  he  himself  said,  he  was  "  an  in- 
strument ordained  of  God  to  settle  the  wilderness."  Born 
in  Pennsylvania,  he  drifted  south  into  western  North  Caro- 
lina, and  settled  on  what  was  then  the  extreme  frontier. 
There  he  married,  built  a  log  cabin,  and  hunted,  chopped 
trees,  and  tilled  the  ground  like  any  other  frontiersman. 
The  Alleghany  Mountains  still  marked  a  boundary  beyond 
which  the  settlers  dared  not  go;  for  west  of  them  lay  im- 
mense reaches  of  frowning  forest,  uninhabited  save  by 
bands  of  warlike  Indians.  Occasionally  some  venturesome 
hunter  or  trapper  penetrated  this  immense  wilderness,  and 
returned  with  strange  stories  of  what  he  had  seen  and 
done. 

In  1769  Boone,  excited  by  these  vague  and  wondrous 
tales,  determined  himself  to  cross  the  mountains  and  find 
out  what  manner  of  land  it  was  that  lay  beyond.  With  a 
few  chosen  companions  he  set  out,  making  his  own  trail 
through  the  gloomy  forest.  After  weeks  of  wandering, 

75 


Daniel  Boone  in  the  frontier  woods.     At  close  quarters. 


Daniel  Boone  77 

he  at  last  emerged  into  the  beautiful  and  fertile  country 
of  Kentucky,  for  which,  in  after  years,  the  red  men  and 
the  white  strove  with  such  obstinate  fury  that  it  grew  to 
be  called  "  the  dark  and  bloody  ground."  But  when  Boone 
first  saw  it,  it  was  a  fair  and  smiling  land  of  groves  and 
glades  and  running  waters,  where  the  open  forest  grew 
tall  and  beautiful,  and  where  innumerable  herds  of  game 
grazed,  roaming  ceaselessly  to  and  fro  along  the  trails  they 
had  trodden  during  countless  generations.  Kentucky  was 
not  owned  by  any  Indian  tribe,  and  was  visited  only  by 
wandering  war-parties  and  hunting-parties  who  came  from 
among  the  savage  nations  living  north  of  the  Ohio  or 
south  of  the  Tennessee. 

A  roving  war-party  stumbled  upon  one  of  Boone's 
companions  and  killed  him,  and  the  others  then  left  Boone 
and  journeyed  home ;  but  his  brother  came  out  to  join  him, 
and  the  two  spent  the  winter  together.  Self-reliant,  fear- 
less, and  possessed  of  great  bodily  strength  and  hardihood, 
they  cared  little  for  the  loneliness.  The  teeming  myriads 
of  game  furnished  abundant  food;  the  herds  of  shaggy- 
maned  bison  and  noble-antlered  elk,  the  bands  of  deer  and 
the  numerous  black  bear,  were  all  ready  for  the  rifle,  and 
they  were  tame  and  easily  slain.  The  wolf  and  the  cougar, 
too,  sometimes  fell  victims  to  the  prowess  of  the  two 
hunters. 

At  times  they  slept  in  hollow  trees,  or  in  some  bush 
lean-to  of  their  own  making;  at  other  times,  when  they 
feared  Indians,  they  changed  their  resting-place  every 
night,  and  after  making  a  fire  would  go  off  a  mile  or  twa 
in  the  woods  to  sleep.  Surrounded  by  brute  and  human, 
foes,  they  owed  their  lives  to  their  sleepless  vigilance,  their 
keen  senses,  their  eagle  eyes,  and  their  resolute  hearts. 


78  The  Westward  Movement 

When  the  spring  came,  and  the  woods  were  white  with 
the  dogwood  blossoms,  and  crimsoned  with  the  red-bud, 
Boone's  brother  left  him,  and  Daniel  remained  for  three 
months  alone  in  the  wilderness.  The  brother  soon  came 
back  again  with  a  party  of  hunters;  and  other  parties  like- 
wise came  in,  to  wander  for  months  and  years  through 
the  wilderness;  and  they  wrought  huge  havoc  among  the 
vast  herds  of  game. 

In  1771  Boone  returned  to  his  home.  Two  years  later 
he  started  to  lead  a  party  of  settlers  to  the  new  country; 
but  while  passing  through  the  frowning  defiles  of  Cumber- 
land Gap  they  were  attacked  by  Indians,  and  driven  back  — 
two  of  Boone's  own  sons  being  slain.  In  1775,  however, 
he  made  another  attempt;  and  this  attempt  was  successful. 
The  Indians  attacked  the  newcomers;  but  by  this  time  the 
parties  of  would-be  settlers  were  sufficiently  numerous  to 
hold  their  own.  They  beat  back  the  Indians,  and  built 
rough  little  hamlets,  surrounded  by  log  stockades,  at  Boones- 
borough  and  Harrodsburg;  and  the  permanent  settlement 
of  Kentucky  had  begun. 

The  next  few  years  were  passed  by  Boone  amid  unending 
Indian  conflicts.  He  was  a  leader  among  the  settlers,  both 
in  peace  and  in  war.  At  one  time  he  represented  them  in 
the  House  of  Burgesses  of  Virginia;  at  another  time  he 
was  a  member  of  the  first  little  Kentucky  parliament  it- 
self; and  he  became  a  colonel  of  the  frontier  militia.  He 
tilled  the  land,  and  he  chopped  the  trees  himself;  he  helped 
to,  build  the  cabins  and  stockades  with  his  own  hands, 
wielding  the  long-handled,  light-headed  frontier  ax  as 
skilfully  as  other  frontiersmen.  His  main  business  was 
that  of  surveyor,  for  his  knowledge  of  the  country,  and  his 
ability  to  travel  through  it,  in  spite  of  the  danger  from  In- 


Daniel  Boone  79 

dians,  created  much  demand  for  his  services  among  people 
who  wished  to  lay  off  tracts  of  wild  land  for  their  own 
future  use.  But  whatever  he  did,  and  wherever  he  went, 
he  had  to  be  sleeplessly  on  the  lookout  for  his  Indian  foes. 
When  he  and  his  fellows  tilled  the  stump-dotted  fields  of 
corn,  one  or  more  of  the  party  were  always  on  guard,  with 
weapon  at  the  ready,  for  fear  of  lurking  savages.  When 
he  went  to  the  House  of  Burgesses  he  carried  his  long 
rifle,  and  traversed  roads  not  a  mile  of  which  was  free 
from  the  danger  of  Indian  attack.  The  settlements  in  the 
early  years  depended  exclusively  upon  game  for  their  meat, 
and  Boone  was  the  mightiest  of  all  the  hunters,  so  that  upon 
him  devolved  the  task  of  keeping  his  people  supplied.  He 
killed  many  buffaloes,  and  pickled  the  buffalo  beef  for  use 
in  winter.  He  killed  great  numbers  of  black  bear,  and 
made  bacon  of  them,  precisely  as  if  they  had  been  hogs. 
The  common  game  were  deer  and  elk.  At  that  time  none 
of  the  hunters  of  Kentucky  would  waste  a  shot  on  any- 
thing so  small  as  a  prairie-chicken  or  wild  duck ;  but  they 
sometimes  killed  geese  and  swans  when  they  came  south 
in  winter  and  lit  on  the  rivers.  But  whenever  Boone  went 
into  the  woods  after  game,  he  had  perpetually  to  keep 
watch  lest  he  himself  might  be  hunted  in  turn.  He  never 
lay  in  wait  at  a  game-lick,  save  with  ears  strained  to  hear 
the  approach  of  some  crawling  red  foe.  He  never  crept 
up  to  a  turkey  he  heard  calling,  without  exercising  the 
utmost  care  to  see  that  it  was  not  an  Indian;  for  one  of 
the  favorite  devices  of  the  Indians  was  to  imitate  the  turkey 
call,  and  thus  allure  within  range  some  inexperienced 
hunter. 

Besides  this  warfare,  which  went  on  in  the  midst  of  his 
usual  vocations,  Boone  frequently  took  the  field  on  set  expe- 


8o  The  Westward  Movement 

ditions  against  the  savages.  Once  when  he  and  a  party  of 
other  men  were  making  salt  at  a  lick,  they  were  surprised 
and  carried  off  by  the  Indians.  The  old  hunter  was  a 
prisoner  with  them  for  some  months,  but  finally  made  his 
escape  and  came  home  through  the  trackless  woods  as 
straight  as  the  wild  pigeon  flies.  He  was  ever  on  the  watch 
to  ward  off  the  Indian  inroads,  and  to  follow  the  war- 
parties,  and  try  to  rescue  the  prisoners.  Once  his  own 
daughter,  and  two  other  girls  who  were  with  her,  were 
carried  off  by  a  band  of  Indians.  Boone  raised  some 
friends  and  followed  the  trail  steadily  for  two  days  and 
a  night;  then  they  came  to  where  the  Indians  had  killed 
a  buffalo  calf  and  were  camped  around  it.  Firing  from 
a  little  distance,  the  whites  shot  two  of  the  Indians,  and, 
rushing  in,  rescued  the  girls.  On  another  occasion,  when 
Boone  had  gone  to  visit  a  salt-lick  with  his  brother,  the 
Indians  ambushed  them  and  shot  the  latter.  Boone  him- 
self escaped,  but  the  Indians  followed  him  for  three  miles 
by  the  aid  of  a  tracking  dog,  until  Boone  turned,  shot 
the  dog,  and  then  eluded  his  pursuers.  In  company  with 
Simon  Kenton  and  many  other  noted  hunters  and  wil- 
derness warriors,  he  once  and  again  took  part  in  expedi- 
tions into  the  Indian  country,  where  they  killed  the  braves 
and  drove  off  the  horses.  Twice  bands  of  Indians,  ac- 
companied by  French,  Toiy,  and  British  partizans  from 
Detroit,  bearing  the  flag  of  Great  Britain,  attacked 
Boonesborough.  In  each  case  Boone  and  his  fellow-set- 
tlers beat  them  off  with  loss.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  the 
Blue  Licks,  in  which  two  hundred  of  the  best  riflemen  of 
Kentucky  were  beaten  with  terrible  slaughter  by  a  great 
force  of  Indians  from  the  lakes,  Boone  commanded  the 
left  wing.  Leading  his  men,  rifle  in  hand,  he  pushed  back 


Daniel  Boone  81 

and  overthrew  the  force  against  him;  but  meanwhile  the 
Indians  destroyed  the  right  wing  and  center,  and  got 
round  in  his  rear,  so  that  there  was  nothing  left  for 
Boone's  men  except  to  flee  with  all  possible  speed. 

As  Kentucky  became  settled,  Boone  grew  restless  and 
ill  at  ease.  He  loved  the  wilderness;  he  loved  the  great 
forests  and  the  great  prairie-like  glades,  and  the  life  in 
the  little  lonely  cabin,  where  from  the  door  he  could  see 
the  deer  come  out  into  the  clearing  at  nightfall.  The 
neighborhood  of  his  own  kind  made  him  feel  cramped  and 
ill  at  ease.  So  he  moved  ever  westward  with  the  frontier ; 
and  as  Kentucky  filled  up  he  crossed  the  Mississippi  and 
settled  on  the  borders  of  the  prairie  country  of  Missouri, 
where  the  Spaniards,  who  ruled  the  territory,  made  him 
an  alcalde,  or  judge.  He  lived  to  a  great  age,  and  died 
out  on  the  border,  a  backwoods  hunter  to  the  last. 


PIONEER  FARMING 
BY  MORRIS  BIRKBECK   (about  1830) 

I  am  now  going  to  take  you  to  the  prairies,  to  show 
you  the  very  beginning  of  our  settlement.  Having  fixed 
on  the  north-western  portion  of  our  prairie  for  our  future 
residence  and  farm,  the  first  act  was  building  a  cabin,  about 
two  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where  the  house  is  to 
stand.  This  cabin  is  built  of  round  straight  logs,  about  a 
foot  in  diameter,  lying  upon  each  other,  and  notched  in 
at  the  corners,  forming  a  room  eighteen  feet  long  by  six- 
teen; the  intervals  between  the  logs  "chunked,"  that  is, 
filled  in  with  slips  of  wood;  and  "  mudded,"  that  is, 
daubed  with  a  plaster  of  mud:  a  spacious  chimney,  built 
also  of  logs,  stands  like  a  bastion  at  one  end:  the  roof  is 
well  covered  with  four  hundred  "  clap  boards  "of  cleft- 
oak,  very  much  like  the  pales  used  in  England  for  fencing 
parks.  A  hole  is  cut  through  the  side,  called,  very  properly, 
the  "door  (the  through),"  for  which  there  is  a  "  shutter," 
made  also  of  cleft  oak,  and  hung  on  wooden  hinges.  All 
this  has  been  executed  by  contract,  and  well  executed,  for 
twenty  dollars.  I  have  since  added  ten  dollars  to  the  cost, 
for  the  luxury  of  a  floor  and  ceiling  of  sawn  boards,  and 
it  is  now  a  comfortable  habitation. 

We  arrived  in  the  evening,  our  horses  heavily  laden 
with  our  guns,  and  provisions,  and  cooking  utensils,  and 
blankets,  not  forgetting  the  all-important  ax.  This  was 
immediately  put  in  requisition,  and  we  soon  kindled  a 

82 


] 


Pioneer  Farming  83 

famous  fire,  before  which  we  spread  our  pallets,  and,  after 
a  hearty  supper,  soon  forgot  that  besides  ourselves,  our 
horses  and  our  dogs,  the  wild  animals  of  the  forest  were 
the  only  inhabitants  of  our  wide  domain.  Our  cabin  stands 
at  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  just  within  the  wood,  so  as  to 
be  concealed  from  the  view  until  you  are  at  the  very  door. 
Thirty  paces  to  the  east  the  prospect  opens  from  a  com- 
manding eminence  over  the  prairie,  which  extends  four 
miles  to  the  south  and  south-east,  and  over  the  woods  be- 
yond to  a  great  distance;  whilst  the  high  timber  behind, 
and  on  each  side,  to  the  west,  north,  and  east,  forms  a 
sheltered  cove  about  five  hundred  yards  in  width.  It  is 
about  the  middle  of  this  cove,  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
from  the  wood  each  way,  but  open  to  the  south,  that  we 
propose  building  our  house. 

Well,  having  thus  established  myself  as  a  resident  pro- 
prietor, in  the  morning  my  boy  and  I  (our  friend  having 
left  us)  sallied  forth  in  quest  of  neighbors,  having  heard 
of  two  new  settlements  at  no  great  distance.  Our  first 
visit  was  to  Mr.  Emberson,,  who  had  just  established  him- 
self in  a  cabin  similar  to  our  own,  at  the  edge  of  a  small 
prairie  two  miles  north-west  of  us.  We  found  him  a 
respectable  young  man,  more  farmer  than  hunter,  sur- 
rounded by  a  numerous  family,  and  making  the  most  of 
a  rainy  day  by  mending  the  shoes  of  his  household.  We 
then  proceeded  to  Mr.  Woodland's,  about  the  same  distance 
south-west:  he  is  an  inhabitant  of  longer  standing,  for  he 
arrived  in  April,  Mr.  E.  in  August.  He  has  since  built 
for  us  a  second  cabin,  connected  with  the  first  by  a  covered 
roof  or  porch,  which  is  very  convenient,  forming  together 
a  commodious  dwelling.  .  .  . 

There  are  no  very  good  mill-seats  on  the  streams  in  out 


84  The  Westward  Movement 

neighborhood,  but  our  prairie  affords  a  most  eligible  site 
for  a  windmill;  we  are  therefore  going  to  erect  one  imme- 
diately: the  materials  are  in  great  forwardness,  and  we 
hope  to  have  it  in  order  to  grind  the  fruits  of  the  ensuing 
harvest. 

Two  brothers,  and  the  wife  of  one  of  them,  started  from 
the  village  of  Puttenham,  close  to  our  old  Wanborough,  and 
have  made  their  way  out  to  us:  they  are  carpenters,  and 
are  now  very  usefully  employed  in  preparing  the  scantlings 
for  the  mill,  and  other  purposes.  You  may  suppose  how 
cordially  we  received  these  good  people.  They  landed  at 
Philadelphia,  not  knowing  where  on  this  vast  continent  they 
should  find  us:  from  thence  they  were  directed  to  Pitts- 
burg,  a  wearisome  journey  over  the  mountains  of  more 
than  300  miles ;  at  Pittsburgh  they  bought  a  little  boat  for 
six  or  seven  dollars,  and  came  gently  down  the  Ohio, 
1,200  miles,  to  Shawneetown;  from  thence  they  proceeded 
on  foot  till  they  found  us.  ... 

By  the  first  of  March  I  hope  to  have  two  plows  at 
work,  and  may  possibly  put  in  100  acres  of  corn  this  spring. 
Early  in  May,  I  think,  we  shall  be  all  settled  in  a  con- 
venient temporary  dwelling,  formed  of  a  range  of  cabins 
of  ten  rooms,  until  we  can  accomplish  our  purpose  of 
building  a  more  substantial  house. 


KENTUCKY  PIONEER  LIFE 
BY  GILBERT  IMLAY 

My  Dear  Friend, 

In  some  of  my  first  letters  I  gave  you  an  account  of  the 
first  settlement  of  this  country.  The  perturbed  state  of 
that  period,  and  the  savage  state  of  the  country,  which 
was  one  entire  wilderness,  made  the  objects  of  the  first 
emigrants  that  of  security  and  sustenance,  which  produced 
the  scheme  of  several  families  living  together  in  what  were 
called  Stations. 

As  the  country  gained  strength  the  Stations  began  to 
break  up  and  their  inhabitants  to  spread  themselves  and 
settle  upon  their  estates.  But  the  embarrassment  they 
were  in  for  most  of  the  conveniences  of  life,  did  not  admit 
of  their  building  any  other  houses  but  those  of  logs  and 
of  opening  fields  in  the  most  expeditious  way  for  planting 
the  Indian  corn;  the  only  grain  which  was  cultivated  at 
that  time. 

The  log  house  is  very  soon  erected,  and  in  consequence 
of  the  friendly  disposition  which  exists  among  those 
hospitable  people,  every  neighbor  flew  to  the  assistance  of 
each  other  upon  occasions  of  emergencies. 

The  next  object  was  to  open  land  to  cultivation.  The 
fertility  of  the  soil  amply  repays  the  laborer  for  his  toil; 
for  if  the  large  trees  are  not  very  numerous,  and  a  large 
proportion  of  them  sugar  maple,  it  is  very  likely  that  from 
this  imperfect  cultivation,  that  the  ground  will  yield  from 

85 


86  The  Westward  Movement 

50  to  60  bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre.  The  second  crop 
will  be  more  ample ;  and  as  the  shade  is  removed  by  cutting 
the  timber  away,  a  great  part  of  the  land  will  produce 
from  seventy  to  one  hundred  bushels  of  corn  from  an 
acre. 

The  cattle  and  hogs  will  find  sufficient  food  in  the  woods. 
The  horses  want  no  provender  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
except  cane  and  wild  clover.  The  garden  with  little  at- 
tention, produces  him  all  the  culinary  roots  and  vegetables 
necessary  for  his  table. 

In  three  or  four  years  his  flock  of  cattle  and  sheep  will 
prove  sufficient  to  supply  him  with  both  beef  and  mutton. 
By  the  fourth  year,  provided  he  is  industrious,  he  may 
have  his  plantation  in  sufficient  good  order  to  build  a  better 
house. 

Such  has  been  the  progress  of  the  settlement  of  this 
country,  from  dirty  Stations  or  forts,  that  it  has  expanded 
into  fertile  fields,  blushing  orchards,  pleasant  gardens,  neat 
and  commodious  houses,  mining  villages  and  trading  towns. 

A  taste  for  the  decorum  of  the  table  was  soon  cultivated; 
the  pleasures  of  gardening  were  considered  not  only  as  use- 
ful but  amusing.  These  improvements  in  the  comforts  of 
living  and  manners  awakened  a  sense  of  ambition  to  in- 
struct their  youth  in  useful  and  accomplished  arts. 

The  distance  from  Philadelphia  by  land  is  between  seven 
and  eight  hundred  miles,  and  upwards  of  five  hundred 
from  Richmond.  The  roads  and  accommodations  are 
tolerably  good  to  the  borders  of  the  wilderness;  through 
which  it  is  hardly  possible  for  a  carriage  to  pass,  great 
part  of  the  way  being  over  high  and  steep  hills,  upon  the 
banks  of  rivers  and  along  defiles  which  in  some  places 
seem  to  threaten  you  at  every  step  with  danger. 


Kentucky  Pioneer  Life  87 

The  wilderness  which  was  formerly  two  hundred  miles 
through  without  a  single  habitation,  is  reduced  from  the  set- 
tlement of  Powel's  Valley  to  nearly  one  half  that  distance; 
and  it  is  to  be  expected  that  in  a  few  years  more  the  re- 
mainder of  the  distance  will  afford  settlements  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  people  traveling  that  route. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  emigrants  in  the  country  they 
generally  take  a  view  of  that  part  which  it  is  their  object  to 
settle  in  and  according  to  their  circumstances  fix  upon  such 
a  situation  as  may  appear  eligible  for  their  business.  The 
greater  proportion  are  husbandmen. 

(From  A  Topographical  Description  of  the  Western  Territory 
of  America,  by  Gilbert  Imlay,  New  York,  1793.) 


A  PIONEER  BOYHOOD 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  WEST  IN  THE  FORTIES 

BY  JAMES  BURTON  POND 

In  the  autumn  of  1843  I  was  four  years  old  and  living 
in  a  log  house  in  the  town  of  Hector,  Tompkins  (now 
Schuyler)  County,  New  York.  One  of  my  earliest  recol- 
lections is  of  a  conversation  between  my  father  and  mother 
regarding  the  expected  visit  of  an  uncle  and  his  family, 
who  were  coming  to  bid  us  good-by  before  moving  to  Illi- 
nois. My  uncle  had  the  "  Illinois  fever  " ;  he  had  just  re- 
turned from  a  "  land-looking  "  in  Illinois,  where  he  had  pre- 
empted a  new  farm.  I  remember  listening  to  my  uncle's 
glowing  description  of  the  new  country  out  in  the  far  West 
beyond  the  Great  Lakes,  where  he  was  going  to  make  a  new 
home.  When  he  had  gone  my  father  talked  constantly 
of  Illinois,  and  the  neighbors  said  he  had  Illinois  fever. 

We  passed  the  long  winter  in  our  log  house  adjoining 
my  grandfather's  farm.  All  the  clothing  and  bedding  peo- 
ple had  in  those  days  was  home-made,  and  every  household 
had  its  loom.  In  our  home,  in  the  single  room  on  the  first 
floor  were  father's  and  mother's  bed,  the  trundle-bed,  where 
four  of  us  children  slept  (lying  crosswise),  the  loom,  the 
spinning-wheel  for  wool  and  tow,  the  flax-wheel,  the  swiffs, 
reeling-bars,  and  the  quill-wheel,  besides  the  table  and 
chairs.  We  had  two  rooms  in  the  attic,  one  a  spare  room 
and  the  other  for  the  hired  help.  Frequently  during  the 
long  evenings  my  grandmother  and  other  neighbors  would 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  89 

come  in  with  their  knitting  and  their  tow-cards,  and  either 
knit  or  card  tow  or  heckle  flax,  talking  about  Illinois,  where 
my  uncle  had  gone.  That  mysterious  word  was  unfathom- 
able to  me.  It  was  finally  decided  that  we  should  go 
there  too,  and  all  our  furniture,  with  bedding,  spinning- 
wheels,  loom,  and  crockery,  was  packed  up,  and  on  Mon- 
day morning,  March  20,  1844,  we  started  for  the  new  coun- 
try. At  Ithaca  our  goods  were  put  on  board  a  canal-boat, 
and  the  next  morning  I  awoke  to  find  myself  on  Cayuga 
Lake,  in  tow  of  a  steamer.  For  days  we  traveled  slowly 
on  the  Erie  Canal,  with  no  memorable  incidents  except  an 
occasional  "  low  bridge,"  one  of  which  swept  our  pro- 
vision-chest nearly  the  length  of  the  deck. 

One  evening  my  uncle,  he  of  the  Illinois  fever,  met  us 
with  his  horses  and  farm-wagon.  Father  hired  another 
team,  and  we  started  for  my  uncle's  new  home  near  Lib- 
ertyville,  Lake  County,  Illinois,  where  we  arrived  the  follow- 
ing morning.  The  house  was  a  log  hut  with  one  room 
and  an  attic.  We  found  my  aunt  sick  with  fever  and  ague. 
She  was  wrapped  in  thick  shawls  and  blankets,  sitting  by 
the  fireplace,  and  shaking  like  a  leaf.  Before  supper  was 
over,  mother  had  a  chill  and  a  shake  which  lasted  nearly 
half  the  night.  The  next  day  it  rained  hard,  and  we  all 
had  chills,  and  my  father  and  uncle  went  to  town,  two  miles, 
for  some  medicine.  They  returned  with  a  large  bundle  of 
thoroughwort  weed,  or  boneset,  a  tea  made  from  which 
was  the  order  of  the  day.  It  was  very  bitter,  and  I  used 
to  feel  more  like  taking  the  consequences  of  the  ague  than 
the  remedy. 

It  was  too  late  for  father  to  secure  a  farm  during  that 
first  summer  in  Illinois,  and  he  obtained  work  in  the  black- 
smith's shop  in  Libertyville,  hiring  two  rooms  for  his  fam- 


90  The  Westward  Movement 

ily  in  the  frame  court-house,  a  half-finished  building  on  a 
high  spot  of  ground.  It  was  neither  plastered  nor  sided, 
only  rough  boards  being  nailed  on  the  frame,  and  when  it 
rained  and  the  wind  blew  we  might  as  well  have  been  out  of 
doors.  Here  our  first  summer  and  winter  in  Illinois  were 
spent. 

As  father  had  a  shake  every  other  day,  he  could  work 
only  half  the  time,  and  we  were  very  poor.  The  ague  was 
in  the  entire  family,  my  sister  and  I  invariably  shaking  at 
the  same  hour  every  alternate  day,  and  my  mother's  and  fa- 
ther's shakes  coming  at  about  the  same  time.  I  have 
known  the  whole  family  to  shake  together;  nor  did  the 
neighbors  escape.  There  were  few  comfortable  homes  and 
few  well  people.  Boneset  tea  was  a  fixture  on  every  stove 
fireplace.  When  my  morning  to  shake  arrived,  I  used  to 
lie  down  on  the  floor  behind  the  cook-stove  and  almost  hug 
the  old  salamander,  even  on  the  warmest  summer  days,  my 
sister  on  the  opposite  side,  my  younger  brothers  snuggling 
up  close  to  me,  and  my  mother  sitting  as  near  the  fire  as 
she  could  get,  all  of  us  with  our  teeth  chattering  together. 

So  the  long,  dreary,  rainy,  ague  summer  passed  away,  to 
be  followed  by  a  wet  and  open  winter.  Father's  scanty 
earnings  were  our  only  support,  and  my  uncle  and  his  fam- 
ily, who  were  on  a  new  farm  two  miles  away,  were  even 
poorer;  for  my  father  occasionally  had  a  few  dollars  in 
money,  while  uncle  had  nothing  but  what  a  farm  of  "  new 
breaking "  produced  the  first  year,  and  with  no  market 
for  even  the  slightest  product.  My  aunt,  who  was  broken 
down  and  discouraged,  would  occasionally  walk  the  two 
miles  to  see  us,  and  my  mother  and  she  would  talk  about 
the  false  hopes  and  glittering  inducements  that  had  led  their 
husbands  to  become  victims  to  the  Illinois  fever. 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  91 

The  spring  came  early,  and  father  rented  a  farm  with 
ten  acres  already  plowed  and  a  log  house,  about  three  miles 
east  of  the  village,  and  there  we  moved.  He  had  the  use 
of  a  yoke  of  oxen,  farm-utensils,  one  cow,  seed-grain,  and 
he  was  to  work  the  farm  for  half  of  all  it  could  be  made  to 
produce.  He  filled  in  odd  moments  by  splitting  rails  and 
fencing  the  ten  acres  with  a  seven-railstaked  and  ridered 
fence. 

The  farm  was  in  the  heavy  woods  near  the  shores  of 
Lake  Michigan.  A  stream  of  water  ran  through  a  deep 
gully  near  the  house,  and  there  father  caught  an  abundance 
of  fish,  while  there  was  plenty  of  game  in  the  woods. 
One  day  he  came  in  and  said  he  had  found  a  deer-lick,  and 
that  night  he  prepared  a  bundle  of  hickory  bark  for  a  torch- 
light, and  with  that  and  his  rifle  he  left  us  for  the  night, 
and  came  in  early  in  the  morning  with  a  deer.  It  was  the 
first  venison  I  had  ever  eaten,  and  the  best.  My  father's 
gun  supplied  our  table  with  venison,  wild  duck,  and  squirrel 
in  abundance.  Mother,  who  had  brought  a  collection  of 
garden  seeds  from  the  East,  managed  the  garden,  and  we 
had  corn,  beans,  cucumbers,  and  pease,  while  tomatoes  we 
raised  as  ornamental  plants  and  called  "  love-apples." 
They  were  then  considered  poisonous,  and  it  was  some 
years  later  before  we  found  out  that  they  were  a  whole- 
some table  delicacy. 

We  spent  only  one  summer  in  this  place,  and  then  my 
father  rented  a  farm  on  the  prairie,  in  the  township  of 
Brooklyn,  Lake  County,  about  five  miles  west  of  Little 
Fort  (now  Waukegan,  Illinois),  and  we  went  there  early 
in  the  autumn  of  1845.  ^  was  a  happy  day  for  my  mother 
when  we  moved  from  our  ague-stricken  gully,  for  she 
prophesied  that  out  on  the  prairie,  where  there  was  pure 


92  The  Westward  Movement 

air,  we  might  possibly  escape  fever  and  ague.  Only  two 
years  before,  mother  had  come  from  a  refined  home  in 
western  New  York,  and  she  had  been  shut  up  in  these 
dreary  woods  in  a  log  house  all  summer,  living  on  game 
and  boneset  tea. 

We  were  up  early,  and  started  at  sunrise  for  the  eight- 
mile  ride  to  our  new  home.  Father  had  come  the  day  be- 
fore with  two  teams  and  a  hired  man.  The  chickens  had 
been  caught  and  put  into  coops  that  were  fastened  on  the 
rear  end  of  the  wagon,  the  "  garden  sauce  "  was  gath- 
ered, and  two  pigs  were  put  into  one  of  the  packing-boxes 
originally  brought  from  the  East.  The  new  home  was  an- 
other log  house,  but  a  good  one,  built  of  hewn  logs,  and  a 
story  and  a  half  high.  The  owner  had  built  a  tavern  and 
was  not  going  to  work  his  farm  any  longer,  so  he  rented  it 
to  father  and  kept  his  tavern  across  the  way. 

The  minister  from  Little  Fort  called,  and  arrangements 
were  made  for  a  church  home,  and  we  used  to  drive  five 
miles  every  Sunday  to  "  meeting."  There  was  a  school  for 
the  children,  and  surrounded  as  we  were  by  intelligent 
and  thrifty  neighbors,  my  mother  began  to  wear  a  cheer- 
ful look.  At  this  time  the  family  consisted  of  six  children, 
of  whom  I  was  the  second,  and  the  eldest  son. 

Here  father  began  to  utilize  me,  and  I  saved  him  many 
steps;  for  he  seemed  to  have  something  for  me  to  do  all 
the  time,  both  when  he  was  at  work  and  when  he  was  rest- 
ing. On  Mondays  I  was  allowed  to  stay  about  the  place 
and  help  mother,  pounding  clothes,  tending  baby,  and 
bringing  wood  and  water.  I  was  able  to  carry  only  about 
a  third  of  the  pail  of  water,  but  my  young  legs  were  ex- 
pected to  make  frequent  journeys  to  and  from  the  spring, 
which  was  over  in  the  cow-pasture,  about  thirty  rods  from 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  93 

the  house.  It  was  protected  from  encroachment  of  cattle 
and  hogs  by  a  three-cornered  rail  fence,  which  I  had  to 
climb  and  lift  my  pail  over  every  time  I  went  for  water. 

My  brother  Homer  was  my  constant  companion,  and  he 
used  to  help  me  with  my  work.  Once  I  had  lifted  him 
over  the  fence  to  dip  up  water  for  me,  when  he  lost  his 
balance,  and  fell  into  the  spring.  The  water  was  about 
up  to  his  chin,  and  very  cold.  He  screamed,  and  mother 
ran  to  help  him  out,  dripping  with  water  and  dreadfully 
frightened.  We  got  into  the  house  as  father  came  in  to 
dinner.  I  was  so  sorry  and  frightened  over  what  had 
happened  that  I  was  already  severely  punished;  but  father 
began  to  scold,  and  then  decided  to  give  me  a  whipping. 
He  went  out  to  the  pasture  near  the  spring  and  cut  some 
willow  switches,  and  after  giving  me  a  severe  talking  to, 
began  laying  the  switches  on  my  back  and  legs.  I  feared 
my  father  ever  afterward.  Nothing  that  I  could  do  to 
please  him  was  left  undone,  but  it  was  always  through 
fear. 

EMIGRANTS. 

We  lived  on  a  public  thoroughfare  where  hundreds,  and 
I  may  say  thousands,  passed  on  their  way  to  take  up  new 
homes  in  Wisconsin,  then  the  extreme  outskirt  of  civiliza- 
tion in  the  Northwest.  There  was  not  a  day  in  which  sev- 
eral wagon-loads  of  emigrants  did  not  pass  our  door,  and 
the  road  was  a  cloud  of  dust  as  far  as  one  could  see  over 
the  level  prairie  country.  The  usual  emigrant  wagon  con- 
tained an  entire  family,  with  all  its  earthly  possessions, 
and  in  some  of  them  families  had  lived  for  many  weeks 
Occasionally  a  length  of  stovepipe  protruded  through  thp 
canvas  cover,  and  it  was  known  that  this  wagon  belonr 


94  The  Westward  Movement 

to  an  aristocratic  family,  such  a  one  usually  having  two 
wagons,  one  being  used  as  a  living-room.  Nearly  every 
family  had  from  one  to  four  cows,  a  coop  of  chickens  at- 
tached to  the  tail-gate,  from  two  to  five  pigs  traveling 
under  the  wagon,  and  occasionally  a  drove  of  sheep  and  a 
loose  colt  near  by.  There  was  sometimes  a  rich  caravan, 
or  association  of  families,  which  had  entered  a  large  tract 
of  land  and  was  moving  in  a  body,  with  horse- teams,  droves 
of  cattle,  and  horses. 

As  we  lived  near  the  road,  people  usually  stopped  at  our 
house,  either  for  a  drink  of  fresh  spring-water  (a  scarcity 
in  those  days),  or  to  purchase  milk,  butter,  garden-stuff, 
or  anything  that  we  could  spare.  These  were  the  pioneers 
of  Wisconsin,  and  were  mostly  from  Pennsylvania,  Ohio, 
Indiana,  and  Michigan.  They  were  the  second  generation 
of  pioneers  of  their  native  States.  In  asking  where  they 
were  from  we  generally  asked,  "What  are  you?"  If 
from  New  York,  it  was  "  Empire  State  " ;  if  from  Pennsyl- 
vania, "Keystones";  if  from  Ohio,  "Buckeyes."  Many 
more  Illinois  pioneers  moved  on  to  Wisconsin  in  those  days 
than  remained,  owing  to  the  dread  of  fever  and  ague.  In 
this  endless  train  of  "  movers  "  it  was  not  uncommon  for 
my  mother  to  meet  people  whose  families  she  had  known 
in  western  New  York. 

THE    LAND-LOOKER. 

The  land-looker  was  as  much  an  occupant  of  the  road 
as  the  emigrant.  He  was  the  advance-picket  who  had  pre- 
ceded on  foot  every  family  that  passed,  and  had  located 
his  quarter-section,  built  his  preemption  shanty,  and  in- 
habited it  three  days,  which  allowed  him  to  hold  it  one 
year,  while  he  could  return  for  his  family.  These  men 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  95 

were  passing  daily,  winter  and  summer,  and  the  tavern 
near  us  was  crowded  nightly  with  them  and  with  emi- 
grants. Our  house,  too,  was  a  shelter  for  many.  Father 
saw  the  enterprising  home-seekers  daily,  and  heard  the  ac- 
counts of  those  who  were  returning  from  their  prospective 
homes  after  having  located;  and  their  glowing  descriptions 
of  the  country,  the  climate,  and  its  freedom  from  ague, 
gave  him  the  "  Wisconsin  fever."  Mother,  however, 
looked  distrustfully  on  the  favorable  reports  brought  back 
dailv,  and  she  pitied  the  people  moving  north. 

Father  had  provided  a  fair  living  for  his  large  family  — 
sumptuous,  indeed,  compared  with  that  of  our  first  year 
in  the  West.  We  had  friends  and  neighbors  and  schools. 
The  owner  of  the  farm  wished  my  father  to  hire  it  for 
two  years  more,  but  father  would  argue  that  this  was  his 
chance  to  get  a  home,  and  here  was  an  opportunity  for 
his  boys;  he  could  make  nothing  on  rented  land,  and  he 
had  only  been  able  to  keep  his  family  alive  for  three  years. 
Mother  said :  "  Supposing  we  do  preempt,  it  is  only  for 
a  year  or  two,  and  then  the  land  must  be  entered  and  paid 
for  at  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  an  acre.  Where 
is  the  money  coming  from  ?  "  Father  told  her  that  many 
of  the  emigrants  who  had  no  money  got  friends  or  specu- 
lators to  furnish  it  for  half  the  land.  Mother  was  not 
enthusiastic,  but  she  finally  consented  to  go  if  father  could 
get  his  sister  in  Connecticut  to  enter  the  land  for  him  when 
due,  and  to  hold  it  in  her  name  until  father  could,  at  some 
future  time,  pay  for  it. 

My  aunt  consented  to  this,  and  in  February  there  came 
a  letter  from  her  inclosing  a  draft  for  one  hundred  dollars, 
with  which  to  buy  a  yoke  of  oxen  and  a  wagon  with  which 
to  work  the  farm. 


96  The  Westward  Movement 

So  my  father  was  fitted  out  as  a  land-looker,  and  mother 
worked  all  day  and  all  night  to  make  his  knapsack. 

Father  had  been  gone  three  weeks  when  a  letter  came 
telling  us  that  he  had  located  a  farm  in  the  town  of  Alto, 
the  southwest-corner  township  in  Fond  du  Lac  County, 
Wisconsin;  that  it  had  a  log  house  on  it,  twelve  by  four- 
teen, which  he  had  bought ;  that  ten  acres  had  already  been 
broken  by  the  man  of  whom  he  had  bought  the  claim,  and 
that  he  would  return  at  once  with  his  wagon  and  oxen  for 
the  family. 

In  March,  1847,  we  started  for  the  new  home. 

We  were  soon  in  the  long  line  of  dust,  making  our 
proportion  of  what  we  had  been  accustomed  to  see  for  two 
years.  I  was  to  help  drive  the  cows  and  pigs.  Whoever 
has  attempted  to  drive  a  hog  knows  the  discouragements 
with  which  I  met.  Whoever  has  never  attempted  it  can 
never  know.  It  seemed  that  if  we  had  wanted  them  to  go 
the  other  way  it  would  have  been  all  right.  They  scat- 
tered in  different  directions  several  times,  and  some  of 
them  succeeded  in  getting  back  home.  My  chagrin  was 
increased  by  passing  or  meeting  other  emigrant  boys  whose 
pigs  and  cattle  kept  quietly  near  the  wagons  and  walked 
gently  along. 

It  took  all  day  to  go  about  six  miles.  We  stopped  over- 
night near  a  farm-house,  and  father,  after  getting  the 
cattle  and  pigs  in  the  barn,  built  a  fire  by  the  roadside  and 
prepared  our  supper.  He  made  tea,  and  with  the  cold 
chicken  and  bread  and  butter  which  mother  had  given  us 
for  the  journey,  we  fared  sumptuously.  Father  brought 
an  armful  of  hay  from  the  barn  near  by,  and  with  plenty 
of  coverlets  he  made  up  a  bed  under  the  wagon,  where  we 
slept  soundly.  This  was  my  first  camping  out. 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  97 

At  Fort  Atkinson  we  met  the  first  band  of  Indians  I 
had  ever  seen.  There  was  a  chief  and  three  or  four  young 
buck  Indians,  as  many  squaws,  and  a  number  of  children, 
all  of  the  Black  Hawk  tribe.  They  were  on  ponies,  rid- 
ing in  single  file  into  the  town  as  we  were  going  out.  I 
was  so  frightened  that  I  cried,  and  as  the  chief  kept  put- 
ting his  hand  to  his  mouth,  saying,  "  Bread  —  hungry  — 
bread  —  hungry,"  father  gave  him  a  loaf  of  bread.  It 
was  not  enough,  but  it  was  all  father  would  let  him  have. 
Homer  and  I  were  in  favor  of  giving  him  everything  we 
had  if  he  would  only  move  on. 

After  leaving  Watertown  we  came  out  on  what  is  known 
as  rolling  prairie  —  for  miles  in  every  direction  a  green, 
wavy  sheet  of  land.  No  ornamental  gardener  could  make 
so  lovely  and  charming  a  lawn,  gently  rolling,  and  sloping 
just  enough  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  flatness  of  the 
long  stretches  of  prairie  and  openings  we  had  passed 
through.  Father  told  us  that  these  great  prairies  would 
always  be  pasture-land  for  herds  of  cattle,  as  the  farmers 
could  not  live  where  there  was  no  timber.  To-day  the 
finest  farms  I  know  of  in  America  are  on  these  great 
prairie-lands,  but  at  that  time  the  prospectors  avoided  such 
claims  and  preempted  only  the  quarter-sections  skirting  the 
prairies,  where  the  oak  openings  supplied  timber  for  log 
houses,  fences,  and  fuel. 

Trails  were  now  branching  in  every  direction,  and  after 
five  days  of  this  travel  it  seemed  as  though  we  had  been 
wandering  for  months  without  a  home.  That  day  we  had 
started  at  sunrise,  resting  for  three  hours  at  noon,  the 
usual  custom  at  that  time.  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  we 
reached  our  home. 

We  were  in  another  log  cabin,  twelve  by  fourteen  feet 


98  The  Westward  Movement 

square,  with  hewn  log  floor,  one  door,  and  one  window 
containing  the  sash  with  its  four  panes  of  glass  which 
father  had  brought  on  his  journey. 

We  boys  slept  in  the  low  garret,  climbing  a  ladder  to 
go  to  bed.  Owing  to  the  exhaustion  and  excitement  of 
the  night  before,  we  were  allowed  to  rest  undisturbed,  and 
the  sun  was  well  up  and  shining  through  the  chink-holes 
in  our  garret  when  we  awoke.  Father  had  gone  with  the 
team  to  a  spring  a  mile  west  for  a  barrel  of  water.  There 
was  no  water  on  our  claim,  and  we  were  obliged  to  haul 
it  on  a  "  crotch,"  a  vehicle  built  from  the  crotch  of  a  tree, 
about  six  by  eight  inches  thick  and  six  feet  long,  on  which 
a  cross-rail  is  laid,  where  a  barrel  can  be  fastened.  The 
oxen  were  hitched  to  it,  and  they  dragged  it  to  and  from  the 
spring. 

Two  beds  were  fitted  across  one  side  of  the  single  down- 
stairs room  in  our  cabin,  and  father  had  to  shorten  the 
rails  of  one  bedstead  to  get  it  into  place.  Under  it  was 
the  trundle-bed  on  which  the  babies  slept,  and  when  this 
was  pulled  out,  and  with  the  cook-stove,  table,  four  chairs, 
wood-box,  and  the  ladder  in  place,  there  was  very  little 
spare  room.  By  father's  order,  the  lower  round  of  the 
ladder  was  always  my  seat. 

THE    FIRST    SCHOOL    AT    ALTO. 

There  were  neighbors  from  a  half  mile  to  three  and 
five  miles  away,  and  they  called  and  offered  their  assistance 
to  contribute  to  our  comfort.  It  was  found  that  there  were 
seventeen  children  within  a  radius  of  five  miles,  and  the 
subject  of  starting  a  school  was  discussed. 

The  school-house  was  a  log  shanty  six  logs  high,  with 
holes  for  a  window  and  a  door,  which  had  been  removed 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood  99 

and  were  now  a  part  of  Mr.  Boardman's  new  house. 
Trees  were  cut  down  and  the  trunks  split  open  and  holes 
bored  in  the  ends  of  each  half  of  the  log;  legs  were  put 
in,  and  then  they  were  hewed  as  smooth  as  an  ax  could 
make  them,  and  placed  on  the  ground  for  benches.  Four 
of  these  "  puncheon "  benches  were  made,  and  at  half- 
past  nine  the  teacher  took  her  place  on  a  chair,  which 
had  been  brought  especially  for  her,  and  called  the  school 
to  order. 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  get  an  idea  of  what  books 
the  pupils  had.  Mother  had  sent  all  her  children  had  ever 
owned,  and  so  had  others,  and  there  were  Cobb's  Spelling- 
book,  Dayball's  Arithmetic,  Parley's  Geography,  Mc- 
Guffey's  Reader,  Saunders's  Spelling-book,  Ray's  Arith- 
metic, Spencer's  Spelling-book,  Adams's  Arithmetic,  and 
Saunders's  Reader,  gathered  from  all  parts  of  America. 
There  were  no  duplicates.  The  school  opened  with  a 
prayer  by  Mr.  Wilbur. 

We  were  not  long  in  wearing  a  well-beaten  path  between 
our  house  and  the  school,  which  for  a  number  of  years 
was  a  thoroughfare  for  pedestrians. 

My  chief  duty  after  school  was  to  hunt  up  the  cows 
and  drive  them  home  in  time  for  milking,  and  I  came  to 
know  every  foot  of  country  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles. 
No  boy's  country  life  can  be  complete  without  having 
hunted  cows.  "  Old  Red  "  wore  the  bell.  Every  neigh- 
bor in  the  country  had  a  bell-cow  and  a  cow-bell,  and  my 
friend  Matt  Wood  and  I  always  arranged  that  our  cattle 
should  herd  together,  and  they  were  invariably  driven  to 
the  same  range  in  the  morning.  Each  of  us  boys  owned 
dogs,  and  we  knew  not  only  every  cow-bell,  but  every 
woodchuck-hole  and  every  gopher-hole,  and  many  a  time, 


10O  The  Westward  Movement 

I  fear,  father  used  to  milk  after  dark  because  our  dog 
had  found  a  deep  gopher-hole,  and  that  gopher  must  be  had, 
milk  or  no  milk,  supper  or  no  supper. 

The  first  summer  father  planted  and  raised  two  acres  of 
potatoes,  with  some  cabbages,  onions,  beets,  carrots,  and 
five  acres  of  corn,  and  he  succeeded  in  splitting  rails  and 
putting  a  fence  around  ten  acres  of  land.  I  was  trained 
to  all  branches  of  usefulness  on  a  new  farm.  Once  in 
two  weeks  I  went  for  the  mail  to  the  nearest  village, 
eleven  miles  away,  often  returning  to  tell  father  that  there 
was  a  letter  in  the  office  with  sixpence  postage  to  pay. 
In  those  days  there  was  no  compulsory  prepayment  on 
letters,  and  it  was  sometimes  months  before  a  turn  of  any 
kind  would  bring  the  money  to  get  the  letter  out  of  the 
post-office.  The  New  York  Weekly  Tribune  was  al- 
ways a  member  of  our  family,  and  our  copy  was  read  by 
everybody  in  the  settlement.  For  three  years  I  walked  to 
the  village  every  week  for  that  paper.  We  children  had 
to  listen  to  my  father  read  it  every  Sunday  afternoon,  as 
it  was  wicked  to  play  out  of  doors,  and  we  had  only  morn- 
ing church  to  attend. 

A    PIONEER    CHRISTMAS. 

Father  came  home  from  Milwaukee  at  Christmas-time, 
bringing  the  flour  of  a  few  bushels  of  wheat,  a  pair  of 
shoes  for  my  brother  and  me,  a  new  pair  of  boots  for  him- 
self, and  some  unbleached  muslin.  Weren't  we  happy! 
It  was  a  day  of  rejoicing.  I  remember  father's  going  to  the 
woodpile  and  in  a  few  moments  cutting  a  pile  of  wood, 
which  gave  us  the  first  hot  fire  of  the  season.  That  after- 
noon mother  made  bread,  and  we  had  salt,  pepper,  tea, 
and  fresh  meat,  for  father  had  bought  a  quarter  of  beef. 


A  Pioneer  Boyhood*,  t ;  \ ;         i. 


A   NEW   LIFE.' 

We  lived  in  Alto  until  1853,  and  then  the  farm  was 
abandoned,  and  my  parents,  with  all  the  children  except 
myself,  moved  to  the  neighboring  city  of  Fond  du  Lac, 
where  father  could  work  by  the  day  and  earn  enough  to 
support  the  family.  I  was  left  to  work  for  a  neighbor; 
but  I  grew  so  homesick  after  a  lonely  Sabbath  in  a  house- 
hold where  there  were  no  children  and  it  was  considered 
wrong  to  take  a  walk  on  Sunday  afternoon,  that  on  Mon- 
day I  took  my  other  shirt  from  the  clothes-line  and  started 
for  Fond  du  Lac.  I  knew  the  stage-driver,  and  he  gave 
me  a  lift. 

As  we  approached  the  city  the  driver  made  me  get  down, 
and  he  told  me  to  follow  the  sidewalk  along  the  main 
street  until  I  came  to  a  foundry,  next  to  which  was  father's 
house.  I  followed  close  behind  the  stage,  keeping  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  Soon  I  found  myself  in  the  city, 
where  there  were  houses  and  stores  on  each  side  of  the 
street,  and  board  walks  for  pedestrians.  I  ieared  to  walk 
on  the  sidewalks,  for  I  was  barefooted,  and  my  feet  were 
muddy  and  the  sidewalks  very  clean.  The  people  seemed 
to  be  dressed  up  as  if  for  Sunday,  and  all  the  boys  wore 
shoes,  which  excited  my  pity,  for  I  knew  how  hot  their 
poor  feet  must  be. 

As  I  groped  my  way  along  Main  Street  I  noticed  a  sign 
that  stretched  nearly  across  the  entire  building  over  three 
stores.  In  large  wooden  letters,  at  least  six  feet  long, 
were  the  words  "  Darling's  block."  It  was  the  largest 
building  I  had  ever  seen,  three  stories  high,  and  I  ventured 
to  step  on  to  the  sidewalk;  and  while  gazing  in  awe  upon 
the  mighty  structure  my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  noise 


102  T|if  •  Westward  Movement 

insid.ei     1 -walked, in  and  found  myself  in  a  printing-office. 

As  I  was  taking  in  the  wonderful  scene  the  pressman 
spoke  to  me  in  a  gruff  voice,  asking  me  what  I  wanted. 
"  Nothing,"  I  said,  trembling,  and  starting  for  the  door. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  learn  the  trade?  "  he  shouted.  "  The 
editor  wants  an  apprentice." 

Just  then  the  editor  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  his 
sanctum.  He  was  a  pleasant-faced  man,  and  he  asked  me 
in  a  kindly  tone  whose  boy  I  was  and  where  I  belonged. 

"  Why,  your  father  is  one  of  my  subscribers.  I  want 
an  apprentice  to  learn  the  printer's  trade.  I  can  give  you 
twenty-five  dollars  for  the  first  year,  thirty  for  the  second, 
and  fifty  dollars  and  the  carrier's  address  for  the  third 
year,  with  your  board  and  washing." 

"  All  right."  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it  I 
was  behind  the  press,  and  in  five  minutes  I  was  covered 
with  printer's  ink  from  head  to  foot. 

My  pioneer  days  were  over. 


"  THE  PLAINS  ACROSS  " 
BY  NOAH  BROOKS 

During    the    ten    years 
immediately  following  the 
discovery  of  gold  in  Cali- 
fornia, the  main-traveled 
road  across  the  continent 
was  what  was  known  as 
the    Platte    River    route. 
Starting     from     Council 
Bluffs,     Iowa,     a     town 
then      famous      as      the 
"  jumping-off    place  "     for    California 
emigrants,  the  adventurers  crossed  the 
Missouri  by  a  rope  ferry  and  clambered 
up  a  steep,   slippery  bank  to   the   site 
of   the   modern   city   of   Omaha.     The 
only  building  of  any  considerable  dimen- 
sions in  the  early  fifties  was  a  large, 
unpainted,    barn-like    structure,    which, 
Thloade     twoip  hands  we  were  proudly  told,  was  to  be  the 
capitol  of  the  Territory  of  Nebraska,  the 
Territorial  organization  of  which  was 

e  snapper.    authorized  by  CongrCSS  in    1854. 

The  trail  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Salt  Lake  valley 
grew  more  and  more  difficult  as  we  approached  the  rocky 
fastnesses  of  the  Wahsatch  range  of  mountains,  that  de- 

103 


A  bull-whacker. 


usedwith 

ion*  wors  mowree?1n 


104  The  Westward  Movement 

fends  the  land  of  the  Latter-Day  Saints  on  its  eastern 
border.  Leaving  the  valley  and  skirting  the  northern  end 
of  Great  Salt  Lake,  the  route  followed  the  general  course 
of  the  Humboldt,  crossed  the  dreadful  desert  which  takes 
its  name  from  the 'river,  and  we  finally  caught  sight  once 
more  of  civilization  in  Honey  Lake  valley,  at  the  eastern 
base  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.  Here  the  trail  began  a  toil- 
some ascent  of  the  gigantic  mountain  wall,  and  scaling  the 
roof  of  the  world,  as  it  seemed  to  us,  slid  down  into  the 
valley  of  the  Sacramento  through  the  wooded  ridges  of  the 
Plumas  mining  region. 

The  average  cost  of  a  journey  to  California  in  those 
days  did  not  greatly  vary  whether  one  took  the  water 
route  by  the  way  of  Cape  Horn  or  the  land  route  by  the 
trail  just  described.  In  either  case  the  emigrants  usually 
clubbed  together,  and  the  cost  per  man  was  therefore  con- 
siderably reduced.  A  party  of  overland  emigrants,  sup- 
plied with  a  team  of  horses  or  oxen, —  preferably  the  latter, 
—  and  numbering  four  or  five  men,  were  expected  to  in- 
vest about  five  hundred  dollars  for  their  outfit.  This  in- 
cluded the  cost  of  provisions,  clothing,  tent,  wagon,  and 
animals,  and  a  small  sum  of  ready  money  for  emergencies 
by  the  way.  The  necessaries  of  life  were  few  and  simple. 
The  commissariat  was  slender,  and  included  flour,  dried 
beans,  coffee,  bacon,  or  "  side-meat,"  and  a  few  small 
stores  —  sugar,  salt,  baking-powder,  and  the  like.  In 
those  days  the  art  of  canning  goods  had  not  been  invented, 
and  the  only  article  in  that  category  was  the  indispensable 
yeast-powder,  without  which  bread  was  impossible.  The 
earliest  emigrants  experimented  with  hard  bread,  but  soft 
bread,  baked  fresh  every  day,  was  found  more  economical 
and  portable,  as  well  as  more  palatable. 


"The  Plains  Across"  105 

But,  after  all,  beans  and  coffee  were  the  mainstay  of 
each  well-seasoned  and  well-equipped  party.  In  our  own 
experience,  good  luck  (more  than  good  management) 
furnished  us  with  enough  of  these  two  necessaries  of  life 
to  last  us  from  the  Missouri  to  the  Pacific.  The  coffee, 
it  should  be  explained,  was  bought  in  its  green  state,  and 
was  browned  and  ground  as  occasion  required.  That 
variety  of  pork  product  known  as  side-meat  was  a  bone- 
less slab  from  the  side  of  a  mast- fed  porker,  salted  and 
smoked.  In  western  Iowa  and  Missouri  we  usually 
found  this  meat  corded  up  in  piles  after  it  had  been  cured. 
Corn-meal,  that  beloved  staff  of  life  on  the  Western  fron- 
tier, was  an  unprofitable  addition  to  the  stores  of  the  emi- 
grant. It  was  not  "  filling,"  and  its  nutriment  was  out  of 
all  proportion  to  its  bulk.  Hot  flour  bread,  made  into  the 
form  of  biscuits,  and  dipped  in  the  "  dope,"  or  gravy,  made 
by  mixing  flour  and  water  with  the  grease  extracted  from 
the  fried  bacon,  was  our  mainstay. 

Does  the  imagination  of  the  epicure  revolt  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  so  rude  a  dish?  To  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
weary  emigrants,  trudging  their  way  across  the  continent, 
spending  their  days  and  nights  in  the  open  air  and  breath- 
ing an  atmosphere  bright  with  ozone,  even  ruder  viands 
than  this  were  as  nectar  and  ambrosia. 

The  evolution  of  cooks,  teamsters,  woodsmen,  and  herd- 
ers from  the  raw  materials  of  a  party  of  emigrants  was 
one  of  the  interesting  features  of  life  on  the  Great  Plains. 
Here  was  a  little  company  made  up  of  a  variety  of  ex- 
periences and  aptitudes.  Each  man's  best  faculty  in  a 
novel  service  must  be  discovered.  At  the  outset,  none 
knew  who  should  drive  the  oxen,  who  should  do  the  cook- 
ing, or  whose  ingenuity  would  be  taxed  to  mend  broken 


io6 


The  Westward  Movement 


wagon  or  tattered  clothing.  Gradually,  and  not  altogether 
without  grumbling  and  objection,  each  man  filled  his  own 
proper  place.  No  matter  if  the  members  of  the  party  were 
college-bred,  society  men,  farmers'  sons,  or  ex-salesmen; 
each  man  found  his  legitimate  vocation  after  a  while. 
The  severest  critic  of  another's  work  was  eventually 
charged  with  the  labor  which  he  had  all  along  declared 
was  not  rightly  performed  by  others.  By  the  time  the 


Fresh  buffalo  meat. 

journey  was  fairly  undertaken,  the  company  was  manned 
in  every  section  as  completely  as  if  each  worker  had  been 
assigned  to  his  place  in  a  council  of  the  Fates.  It  was  just 
and  fit  that  he  who  had  steadily  derided  the  cooking  of 


"The  Plains  Across"  107 

every  other  should  show  the  others  how  cooking  should 
be  done;  and  common  consent  gave  to  the  best  manager 
of  cattle  the  arduous  post  of  driver.  There  was  no  place 
for  drones,  of  course,  for  this  was  a  strenuous  life.  Be- 
fore the  continent  had  been  crossed  the  master  spirits  had 
asserted  themselves.  It  was  an  evolution  of  the  fittest. 

I  have  said  that  these  assignments  to  duty  were  not 
accomplished  without  grumbling  and  objection.  Indeed, 
the  division  of  labor  in  a  party  of  emigrants  was  a  prolific 
cause  of  quarrel.  In  our  own  little  company  of  five  there 
were  occasional  angry  debates  while  the  various  burdens 
were  being  adjusted,  but  no  outbreak  ever  occurred.  We 
saw  not  a  little  fighting  in  the  camps  of  others  who  some- 
times jogged  along  the  trail  in  our  company,  and  these 
bloody  fisticuffs  were  invariably  the  outcome  of  disputes 
over  divisions  of  labor. 

It  should  not  be  understood  that  the  length  of  time  re- 
quired to  traverse  the  distance  between  the  Missouri  and 
the  Sacramento  was  wholly  consumed  in  traveling.  No- 
body appeared  to  be  in  a  feverish  haste  to  finish  the  journey ; 
and  it  was  necessary  to  make  occasional  stops  on  the  trail, 
where  conditions  were  favorable,  for  the  purpose  of  rest- 
ing and  refitting.  A  pleasant  camping-place,  with  wood, 
water,  and  grass  in  plenty,  was  an  invitation  to  halt  and 
take  a  rest.  This  was  called  a  "  lay-by,"  and  the  halt 
sometimes  lasted  several  days,  during  which  wagon-tires 
were  reset,  ox-yokes  repaired,  clothes  mended,  and  a  gen- 
eral clean-up  of  the  entire  outfit  completed  preparatory  to 
another  long  and  uninterrupted  drive  toward  the  setting 
sun.  If  the  stage  of  the  journey  immediately  before  us 
was  an  unusually  difficult  one,  the  stop  was  longer  and 
the  overhauling  more  thorough. 


io8  The  Westward  Movement 

A  day's  march  averaged  about  twenty  miles;  an  uncom- 
monly good  day  with  favorable  conditions  would  give  us 
twenty-five  miles.  The  distances  from  camping-place  to 
camping-place  were  usually  well  known  to  all  wayfarers. 
By  some  subtle  agency,  information  (and  sometimes  mis- 
information) .  was  disseminated  along  the  trail  before  us 
and  behind  us,  and  we  generally  knew  what  sort  of  camp- 
ing-place we  should  find  each  night,  and  how  far  it  was 
from  the  place  of  the  morning  start.  So,  when  we  halted 
for  the  night,  we  knew  pretty  accurately  how  many  miles 
we  had  covered  in  that  day's  tramp. 

Of  course  riding  was  out  of  the  question.  We  had  one 
horse,  but  he  was  reserved  for  emergencies,  and  nobody 
but  a  shirk  would  think  of  crawling  into  the  wagon, 
loaded  down  as  it  was  with  the  necessaries  of  life,  unless 
sickness  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  walk.  In  this  way 
we  may  be  said  to  have  walked  all  the  way  from  the  Mis- 
souri to  the  Sacramento.  Much  walking  makes  the  human 
leg  a  mere  affair  of  skin,  bone,  and  sinew.  We  used  to 
say  that  our  legs  were  like  chair-posts.  But  then  the  exer- 
cise was  "  good  for  the  health."  Nobody  was  ever  ill. 

Grass,  wood,  and  water  were  three  necessities  of  life 
on  the  trail.  But  these  were  sometimes  very  difficult  to 
find.  Usually  one  or  two  of  the  party  went  on  ahead  of 
the  rest  and  looked  out  a  suitable  camping-place  where 
those  essentials  could  be  found.  Fuel  was  sometimes  ab- 
solutely unobtainable,  possibly  a  few  dry  weeds  and  stalks 
being  the  only  combustible  thing  to  be  found. 

Emigrants  who  were  dependent  upon  open  fires  for  cook- 
ing were  often  in  very  hard  case.  We  were  fortunate  in 
the  possession  of  a  small  sheet-iron  camp-stove,  for  the 
heating  of  which  a  small  amount  of  fuel  was  sufficient- 


"The  Plains  Across'5  109 

This  handy  little  apparatus  was  lashed  to  the  rear  end  of 
the  wagon  when  on  the  trail,  and  when  it  was  in  use, 
every  sort  of  our  simple  cookery  could  be  carried  on  by 
it  with  most  satisfactory  results.  When  we  were 
obliged  to  camp  for  the  night  on  wet  ground  after  a  rain, 
the  flat-bottomed  camp-stove,  well  heated  and  light,  was 
moved  from  place  to  place  inside  the  tent  until  the  sur- 
face on  which  we  must  make  our  bed  was  fairly  dry. 


Old  Fort  Bridger,  east  of  Salt  Lake  City. 

Sometimes,  however,  we  camped  down  on  the  damp 
ground;  and  sometimes,  before  we  learned  the  trick  of 
digging  a  ditch  around  the  tent  when  signs  of  rain  ap- 
peared, we  woke  to  find  ourselves  lying  in  puddles  of 
water.  In  such  a  case  it  was  better  to  lie  in  the  water 
that  had  been  slightly  warmed  by  the  heat  of  one's  body 
than  to  turn  over  into  a  colder  stream  on  the  other  side. 
These  experiences  were  novel  and  interesting;  nobody  ever 
suffered  seriously  from  them. 

In  the  matter  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  we  had  times 
of  plenty  and  times  of  scarcity.  There  were  places  where 
our  cattle  were  knee-deep  in  wild,  succulent  grasses,  and 
there  were  times  when  they  had  nothing  but  the  coarse  and 
wilted  sheaves  of  grass  carried  along  the  trail  from  the 
last  camp.  Flour,  coffee,  and  bacon  never  failed  us ;  and 
there  were  times  when  we  had  more  fresh  meat  than  we 


no  The  Westward  Movement 

could  eat.  In  the  buffalo  country,  of  course,  we  bad  the 
wholesome  beef  of  that  then  multitudinous  animal  in  every 
possible  variety.  In  the  Rocky  Mountain  region,  antelope, 
prairie-dogs,  black-tail  deer,  jack-rabbits,  and  occasionally 
sage-hens  gave  us  an  enjoyable  change  from  our  staple 
diet  of  bacon  and  bread.  The  antelope  were  very  wild 
and  timid,  and  no  one  thought  of  chasing  them ;  they  were 
brought  down  by  stratagem.  A  bright-colored  handker- 
chief fastened  to  a  ramrod  stuck  into  the  ground  was  a 
lure  which  no  antelope  could  resist.  A  small  drove  of 
these  inquisitive  creatures  would  circle  distantly  round  and 
round  the  strange  flag:  but  ever  drawing  nearer,  some- 
times pausing  as  if  to  discuss  among  themselves  what  that 
thing  could  possibly  be,  they  would  certainly  come  at  last 
within  gunshot  of  the  patient  hunter  lying  flat  on  the 
ground;  a  rifle-ball  would  bring  down  one  of  the  herd, 
and  the  rest  would  disappear  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed 
them. 

In  the  heart  of  the  buffalo  country  the  buffaloes  were  an 
insufferable  nuisance.  Vast  herds  were  moving  across  our 
trail  from  south  to  north,  trampling  the  moist  and  grassy 
soil  into  a  black  paste,  and  so  polluting  the  streams  and 
springs  that  drinking-water  was  often  difficult  to  obtain. 
The  vastness  of  some  of  these  droves  was  most  impres- 
sive, in  spite  of  the  calamitous  ruin  they  left  behind  them. 
As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  surface  of  the  earth 
was  a  heaving  mass  of  animal  life;  the  ground  seemed  to 
be  covered  with  a  brown  mantle  of  fur.  As  we  advanced 
along  the  trail,  the  droves  would  quietly  separate  to  our 
right  and  left,  leaving  a  lane  along  which  we  traveled  with 
herds  on  each  side  of  us.  From  an  eminence,  looking 
backward  and  forward,  one  could  see  that  we  were  com- 


112  The  Westward  Movement 


First  view  of  Salt  Lake  from  a  mountain  pass. 

pletely  hemmed  in  before  and  behind;  and  the  space  left 
for  us  by  the  buffalo  moved  along  with  us.  They  never 
in  the  least  incommoded  us  by  any  hostile  action;  all  they 
asked,  apparently,  was  to  be  let  alone. 

The  buffalo  is  not  the  clumsy  animal  he  looks  in  cap- 
tivity or  in  pictures.  It  is  a  fleet  horse  that  can  over- 
take him;  and  to  see  him  drop  into  a  wallow  while  on  a 
keen  run,  roll  over  and  over  two  or  three  times,  and  skip 
to  his  feet  and  away  with  his  comrades  with  the  nimble- 
ness  of  a  kitten,  is  a  sight  to  be  remembered. 

Although  we  traveled  a  part  of  the  time  through  what 
was  known  as  a  hostile  Indian  country,  we  were  never 
molested  by  the  red  men.  Friendly  Indians  came  into  our 
camps  to  beg,  to  pilfer,  or  to  sell  buckskins  and  moccasins. 
Before  us  and  behind  us  were  several  attacks  upon  caravans, 


"The  Plains  Across"  113 

the  victims  usually  being  few  in  number  and  unprepared 
for  a  skirmish.  But  while  we  were  in  the  region  deemed 
dangerous  from  Indians  we  massed  in  with  other  com- 
panies of  emigrants,  so  that  we  were  seldom  less  than 
one  hundred  and  fifty  strong;  a  regular  watch  was  kept 
by  night,  and  the  wagons  were  parked  in  a  circle  which 
could  be  used  as  a  defense  in  case  of  an  attack. 

In  the  course  of  weeks,  the  camp,  wherever  it  might  be 
pitched,  took  on  the  semblance  of  a  home.  The  tent  was 
our  house;  the  rude  cooking-  and  eating-apparatus  and 
the  comfortable  bedding  were  our  household  furniture,  and 
the  live  stock  about  us  was  our  movable  property.  Ex- 
cept in  the  most  trying  and  difficult  straits,  evening  found 
us  busy  with  household  cares  and  amusements.  Our 
neighbors  were  changeable,  it  is  true,  but  we  often  found 
new  and  pleasant  acquaintances,  and  sometimes  old  friends 
from  whom  we  had  been  separated  for  weeks  would  trundle 
up  and  camp  near  us. 

One  of  the  famous  landmarks  to  which  we  had  looked 
forward  with  great  interest  was  the  Devil's  Gate  of  the 
Rockies,  through  which  we  passed  before  beginning  the 
climb  of  the  backbone  of  the  continent.  It  was  a  far  more 
impressive  spectacle  than  the  pass.  The  gate  is  double,  and 
through  one  of  its  tall,  black  portals  murmurs  the  Sweet- 
water  on  its  way  to  join  the  North  Platte.  The  trail  lies 
through  the  other  fissure,  trail  and  stream  being  only  a 
few  hundred  rods  apart. 

Two  days  from  Fort  Bridge  we  entered  Echo  Canon, 
one  of  the  most  delightful  spots  which  I  remember  on  the 
long,  long  trail.  The  canon  is  about  twenty  miles  long, 
and  could  be  readily  traversed  in  a  single  day;  but  we 
loitered  through  it,  so  that  we  were  more  than  two  days  in 


114  The  Westward  Movement 

its  charmed  fastnesses.  On  each  side  of  the  route  the 
cliffs  tower  to  a  great  height,  marked  with  columnar 
formations  and  clouded  with  red,  white,  yellow,  and  drab, 
like  some  ancient  wall  of  brick  and  stone.  The  crests  of 
these  towers  are  crowded  with  verdure,  and  here  and 
there  are  trees  and  vines  that  line  the  canon  and  climb  up- 
ward to  the  flying  buttresses  of  the  rocky  walls.  A  de- 
licious stream  of  water  crosses  and  recrosses  the  trail;  and 
while  we  were  in  the  canon,  grass  and  fuel  were  abundant. 
To  make  our  comfort  complete,  great  quantities  of  wild 
berries  hung  invitingly  from  the  bushes  by  the  sides  of  the 
way.  Silvery  rivulets  fell  from  the  walls  of  the  canon,  and 
wild  vines  and  flowers  in  great  variety  bloomed  against  the 
buttresses  and  donjon-keeps  of  the  formations  through 
which  we  threaded  our  way. 

Crossing  the  Weber,  we  entered  one  more  canon,  and 
suddenly,  one  afternoon,  emerging  from  the  mouth  of 
Emigrant  Canon,  we  looked  down  upon  one  of  the  fairest 
scenes  on  which  the  eye  of  man  has  ever  gazed  —  the  Great 
Salt  Lake  valley.  It  was  like  a  jewel  set  in  the  heart  of 
the  continent.  Deep  below  us,  stretching  north  and  south, 
was  the  level  floor  of  the  valley.  Far  to  the  westward 
rose  a  wall  of  mountains,  purple,  pink,  and  blue  in  the 
distance.  Nearer  sparkled  the  azure  waters  of  the  Great 
Salt  Lake. 

The  route  from  the  city  of  the  Saints  lay  around  the 
northern  end  of  the  lake,  but,  in  order  to  reach  the  road 
to  Bear  River,  we  were  obliged  to  cross  a  few  fenced 
fields,  and  this  involved  long  parleys  with  surly  owners. 
We  passed  through  a  string  of  small  towns  on  our  way 
up  to  the  main-traveled  trail,  the  last  of  these  being  Box 
Elder,  now  known  as  Brigham  City.  Box  Elder  was 


"The  Plains  Across"  115 

a  settlement  of  about  three  hundred  people,  and  boasted  a 
post-office,  a  blacksmith's  shop,  a  trading-post,  and  a 
brewery.  At  this  last-named  establishment  we  bought 
some  fresh  yeast,  which  served  us  a  good  turn  in  bread- 
making  for  many  a  day  thereafter.  We  bought  new  flour 
in  Salt  Lake  City  at  a  fair  price,  having  skimped  our- 
selves on  that  article  for  some  time  on  account  of  the 
exorbitant  cost  of  it  at  the  trading-posts  on  the  trail.  At 
Fort  Bridger,  flour  was  thirty-five  dollars  a  barrel,  and 
bacon  was  one  dollar  a  pound. 

We    were    now    approaching    the    edge    of    the    Great 
Desert,  which,  stretching  from  the  Bitter  Root  Mountains, 


Moonlight  in  the  western  desert. 


n6  The  Westward  Movement 

in  northern  Idaho,  to  the  southern  boundary  of  Arizona,  in- 
terposed for  many  years  a  barrier  that  was  supposed  to 
be  impassable  to  the  hardy  emigrant.  Now  came  long 
night  marches  and  dreary  days  spent  in  traversing  a  re- 
gion intolerable  with  dust,  heat,  rocky  trails,  and  sideling 
hills. 

The  last  day's  drive  in  the  desert  was  the  hardest  of 
all.  Twenty  miles  lay  between  us  and  the  Honey  Lake 
valley.  It  was  to  be  traveled  in  the  night;  and  as  the 
numerous  trains  and  caravans  swept  down  into  the  plain 
from  the  point  of  rocks  on  which  I  was  sitting,  waiting 
for  our  wagons  to  come  up,  it  was  pathetic  to  note  the  in- 
tentness  with  which  this  multitude  of  home-seekers  and 
gold-seekers  set  their  faces  westward.  There  was  no  haste, 
no  fussy  anxiety,  but  the  vast  multitude  of  men,  women, 
and  children  who  had  left  all  behind  them  to  look  for  a 
new  life  in  an  unknown  land  trooped  silently  down  into 
the  desert  waste.  The  setting  sun  bathed  the  plain  in 
golden  radiance,  and  eastward  the  rocky  pinnacles  of  the 
ranges  through  which  we  had  toiled  were  glorified  with 
purple,  gold,  and  crimson.  It  was  a  sight  to  be  remem- 
bered —  as  beautiful  as  a  dream,  hiding  a  wilderness  as 
cruel  as  death. 

Honey  Lake  belied  the  sweetness  of  its  name.  It  was 
a  small  sheet  of  muddy  water,  but  emptying  into  it  was  a 
sparkling  river,  or  creek,  known  as  Susan's  River,  which, 
meandering  through  an  emerald  valley  and  watering  many 
a  meadow,  gave  unwonted  beauty  to  a  scene  the  like  of 
which  had  not  been  gazed  upon  by  the  toil-worn  plainsmen 
for  many  a  day.  Here,  too,  we  got  our  first  glimpse  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada. 

After  the  privation  and  poverty  of  the  desert,  the  wild 


"The  Plains  Across"  117 

abundance  of  the  forests  of  the  Sierra  was  luxury  inde- 
scribable. We  camped  by  crystal  waterfalls  with  rank  and 
succulent  grasses  all  about  us ;  overhead  were  the  spreading 
branches  of  noble  pines,  and  our  camp-fires  were  heaped 
with  an  extravagance  of  fuel.  But  we  soon  found  how 
hard  it  was  to  climb  the  mountain-range;  and  when,  after 
a  day's  solid  rest  and  comfort,  we  reached  the  crest  of 
the  ridge,  we  saw  that  the  trail  pitched  almost  perpen- 
dicularly over  the  sharp  backbone  of  the  Sierra.  Two  or 
three  trees  that  grew  by  the  place  where  the  track  led  to 
the  brink  were  scarred  and  worn  nearly  through  by  ropes 
that  had  been  wound  around  them  to  let  down  the  heavy 
wagons  into  the  abyss  below.  The  cattle  were  taken  out 
of  the  teams  and  driven  down  through  the  undergrowth 
of  thickets;  and  then,  making  a  rope  fast  to  the  rear  axle 
of  each  wagon,  one  wagon  at  a  time  was  carefully  lowered 
down  the  steep  declivity. 

That  arduous  labor  over,  we  passed  through  the  "  Devil's 
Corral  "  and  camped  in  Mountain  Meadows,  a  very  para- 
dise of  a  spot,  in  which  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  surrounded 
by  every  luxury  imaginable,  albeit  we  had  nothing  but 
what  uncultivated  nature  gave  us. 

The  vale  of  the  new  Eldorado  was  tawny  and  gold  with 
sear  grass  and  wild  oats.  In  the  distance  rose  the  misty 
mountain  wall  of  the  Coast  Range ;  nearer  a  heroic  outline 
of  noble  peaks  broke  the  yellow  abundance  of  the  valley's 
floor.  This  was  the  group  known  as  Sutter's  Buttes,  near 
the  base  of  which  was  Nye's  Ranch  (now  Marysville), 
the  goal  of  our  long  tramp.  Dogtown,  Inskip,  and  a  little 
host  of  other  mining  hamlets,  claimed  our  attention  briefly 
as  we  swept  down  into  the  noble  valley,  on  whose  farther 
edge,  by  the  historic  Yuba,  we  found  our  last  camp. 


li8 


The  Westward  Movement 


Here  we  met  the  wave  of  migration  that  earlier  broke 
on  the  shores  of  the  Pacific.  In  the  winter  of  1849-50 
two  hundred  and  fifty  vessels  sailed  for  San  Francisco  from 
the  ports  of  the  Atlantic  States;  and  their  multitudes  of 
men  were  reinforced  by  other  multitudes  from  other  lands. 
In  a  single  year  the  population  of  the  State  was  augmented 
by  an  influx  of  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  per- 
sons, arriving  by  sea  and  by  land. 


THE  FIRST  EMIGRANT  TRAIN  TO  CALIFORNIA 
BY  JOHN  BIDWELL  (PIONEER  OF  '41) 

'N  the  spring  of  1839  —  living  at  the 
time  in  the  western  part  of  Ohio  — 
being  then  in  my  twentieth  year,  I 
conceived  a  desire  to  see  the  great 
prairies  of  the  West,  especially  those 
most  frequently  spoken  of,  in  Illinois, 
Iowa,  and  Missouri.  Emigration  from  the  East  was  tend- 
ing westward,  and  settlers  had  already  begun  to  invade 
those  rich  fields. 

Starting  on  foot  to  Cincinnati,  ninety  miles  distant, 
I  fortunately  got  a  chance  to  ride  most  of  the  way  on 
a  wagon  loaded  with  farm  produce.  My  outfit  consisted 
of  about  $75,  the  clothes  I  wore,  and  a  few  others  in  a 
knapsack  which  I  carried  in  the  usual  way  strapped  upon 
my  shoulders,  for  in  those  days  travelers  did  not  have 
valises  or  trunks.  Though  traveling  was  considered 
dangerous,  I  had  no  weapon  more  formidable  than  a 
pocket-knife.  From  Cincinnati  I  went  down  the  Ohio 
River  by  steamboat  to  the  Mississippi,  up  the  Mississippi 
to  St.  Louis,  and  thence  to  Burlington,  in  what  was  then 
the  Territory  of  Iowa.  Those  were  bustling  days  on  the 
western  rivers,  which  were  then  the  chief  highways  of 
travel.  The  scenes  at  the  wood  landings  I  recall  as  par- 
ticularly lively  and  picturesque.  Many  passengers  would 
save  a  little  by  helping  to  "  wood  the  boat,,"  i.  e.,  by  carry- 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     121 

ing  wood  down  the  bank  and  throwing  it  on  the  boat, 
a  special  ticket  being  issued  on  that  condition. 

In  1839  Burlington  had  perhaps  not  over  two  hundred 
inhabitants,  though  it  was  the  capital  of  Iowa  Territory. 
After  consultation  with  the  governor,  Robert  Lucas  of 
Ohio,  I  concluded  to  go  into  the  interior  and  select  a  tract 
of  land  on  the  Iowa  River.  In  those  days  one  was  per- 
mitted to  take  up  160  acres,  and  where  practicable  it  was 
usual  to  take  part  timber  and  part  prairie.  After  work- 
ing awhile  at  putting  up  a  log  house  —  until  all  the  peo- 
ple in  the  neighborhood  became  ill  with  fever  and  ague 
—  I  concluded  to  move  on  and  strike  out  to  the  south  and 
southwest  into  Missouri.  I  traveled  across  country,  some- 
times by  the  sun,  without  road  or  trail.  There  were  houses 
and  settlements,  but  they  were  scattered ;  sometimes  one 
would  have  to  go  twenty  miles  to  find  a  place  to  stay  at 
night. 

On  my  arrival,  my  money  being  all  spent,  I  was  obliged 
to  accept  the  first  thing  that  offered,  and  began  teaching 
school  in  the  country  about  five  miles  from  the  town  of 
Weston,  which  was  located  on  the  north  side  of  the  Mis- 
souri River  and  about  four  miles  above  Fort  Leaven- 
worth  in  Kansas  Territory.  Possibly  some  may  suppose 
it  did  not  take  much  education  to  teach  a  country  school 
at  that  period  in  Missouri.  The  rapid  settlement  of  that 
new  region  had  brought  together  people  of  all  classes  and 
conditions,  and  had  thrown  into  juxtaposition  almost  every 
phase  of  intelligence  as  well  as  of  illiteracy.  But  there 
was  no  lack  of  self-reliance  or  native  shrewdness  in  any 
class,  and  I  must  say  that  I  learned  to  have  a  high  esteem 
for  the  people,  among  whom  I  found  warm  and  lifelong 
friends. 


122  The  Westward  Movement 

In  November  or  December  of  1840,  while  still  teaclv 
ing  school  in  Platte  County,  I  came  across  a  Frenchman 
named  Roubideaux,  who  said  he  had  been  to  California. 
He  had  been  a  trader  in  New  Mexico,  and  had  followed 
the  road  traveled  by  traders  from  the  frontier  of  Missouri 
to  Santa  Fe.  He  had  probably  gone  through  what  is  now 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona  into  California  by  the  Gila  River 
trail  used  by  the  Mexicans.  H/.s  description  of  California 
was  in  the  superlative  degree  favorable,  so  much  so  that  I 
resolved  if  possible  to  see  that  wonderful  land,  and  with 
others  helped  to  get  up  a  meeting  at  Weston  and  invited 
him  to  make  a  statement  before  it  in  regard  to  the  coun- 
try. At  that  time  wher  a  man  moved  out  West,  as  soon 
as  he  was  fairly  settled  he  wanted  to  move  again,  and 
naturally  every  question  imaginable  was  asked  in  regard  to 
this  wonderful  country.  Roubideaux  described  it  as  one 
of  perennial  spring  and  boundless  fertility,  and  laid  stress 
on  the  countless  thousands  of  wild  horses  and  cattle.  He 
told  about  oranges,  and  hence  must  have  been  at  Los 
Angeles,  or  the  mission  of  San  Gabriel,  a  few  miles  from 
it.  Every  conceivable  question  that  we  could  ask  him 
was  answered  favorably.  Generally  the  first  question 
which  a  Missourian  asked  about  a  country  was  whether 
there  was  any  fever  and  ague.  I  remember  his  answer 
distinctly.  He  said  there  was  but  one  man  in  California 
that  had  ever  had  a  chill  there,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  so 
much  wonderment  to  the  people  of  Monterey  that  they 
went  eighteen  miles  into  the  country  to  see  him  shake. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  satisfactory  on  the  score 
of  health.  He  said  that  the  Spanish  authorities  were  most 
friendly,  and  that  the  people  were  the  most  hospitable  on 
the  globe;  that  you  could  travel  all  over  California  and  it 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     123 


would  cost  you  nothing  for  horses  or  food.  Even  the  In- 
dians were  friendly.  His  description  of  the  country  made 
it  seem  like  a  Paradise. 

The  result  was  that  we  appointed  a  corresponding  secre- 
tary, and  a  committee  to  report  a  plan  of  organization.     A 


Westport  Landing,  Kansas 
City. 

(From  a  print  of  the  period.) 


pledge  was  drawn  up  in  which  every  signer  agreed  to  pur- 
chase a  suitable  outfit,  and  to  rendezvous  at  Sapling  Grove 
in  what  is  now  the  State  of  Kansas,  on  the  Qth  of  the 
following  May,  armed  and  equipped  to  cross  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  California.  We  called  ourselves  the  Western 
Emigration  Society,  and  as  soon  as  the  pledge  was  drawn  up 
every  one  who  agreed  to  come  signed  his  name  to  it,  and  it 
took  like  wildfire.  In  a  short  time,  I  think  within  a  month, 
we  had  about  five  hundred  names;  we  also  had  correspon- 
dence on  the  subject  with  people  all  over  Missouri,  and 
even  as  far  east  as  Illinois  and  Kentucky,  and  as  far  south 


124 


The  Westward  Movement 


as  Arkansas.  As  soon  as  the  movement  was  announced 
in  the  papers  we  had  many  letters  of  inquiry,  and  we  ex- 
pected people  in  considerable  numbers  to  join  us.  About 
that  time  we  heard  of  a  man  living  in  Jackson  County, 
Missouri,  who  had  received  a  letter  from  a  person  in  Cal- 
ifornia named  Dr.  Marsh,  speaking  favorably  of  the  coun- 
try, and  a  copy  of  this  letter  was  published. 

Our  ignorance  of  the  route  was  complete.  We  knew 
that  California  lay  west,  and  that  was  the  extent  of  our 
knowledge.  Some  of  the  maps  consulted,  supposed  of 
course  to  be  correct,  showed  a  lake  in  the  vicinity  of  where 
Salt  Lake  now  is ;  it  was  represented  as  a  long  lake,  three 
or  four  hundred  miles  in  extent;  narrow  and  with  two 


A  bit  ot  rough  road. 

outlets,  both  running  into  the  Pacific  Ocean,  eithei  ap- 
parently larger  than  the  Mississippi  River.  An  intelligent 
man  with  whom  I  boarded  —  Elam  Brown,  who  till  re- 
cently lived  in  California,  dying  when  over  ninety  years  of 
age  —  possessed  a  map  that  showed  these  rivers  to  be 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     125 

large,  and  he  advised  me  to  take  tools  along  to  make  canoes, 
so  that  if  we  found  the  country  so  rough  that  we  could 
not  get  along  with  our  wagons  we  could  descend  one  of 
those  rivers  to  the  Pacific.  Even  Fremont  knew  nothing 
about  Salt  Lake  until  1843,  when  for  the  first  time  he 
explored  it  and  mapped  it  correctly,  his  report  being  first 
printed,  I  think,  in  1845. 

At  the  last  moment  before  the  time  to  start  for  the 
rendezvous  at  Sapling  Grove  —  it  seemed  almost  provi- 
dential—  along  came  a  man  named  George  Henshaw,  an 
invalid,  from  Illinois,  I  think.  He  was  pretty  well  dressed, 
was  riding  a  fine  black  horse,  and  had  ten  or  fifteen  dollars. 
I  persuaded  him  to  let  me  take  his  horse  and  trade  him 
for  a  yoke  of  steers  to  pull  the  wagon  and  a  sorry-look- 
ing, one-eyed  mule  for  him  to  ride.  We  went  via  Weston 
to  lay  in  some  supplies.  One  wagon  and  four  or  five 
persons  here  joined  us. 

The  party  consisted  of  sixty-nine,  including  men,  women, 
and  children.  Our  teams  were  of  oxen,  mules,  and  horses. 
We  had  no  cows,  as  the  later  emigrants  usually  had,  and 
the  lack  of  milk  was  a  great  deprivation  to  the  children. 
It  was  understood  that  every  one  should  have  not  less  than 
a  barrel  of  flour  with  sugar  and  so  forth  to  suit;  but  I 
laid  in  one  hundred  pounds  of  flour  more  than  the  usual 
quantity,  besides  other  things.  This  I  did  because  we  were 
told  that  when  we  got  into  the  mountains  we  probably 
would  get  out  of  bread  and  have  to  live  on  meat  alone, 
which  I  thought  would  kill  me  even  if  it  did  not  others. 
My  gun  was  an  old  flintlock  rifle,  but  a  good  one.  Old  hunt- 
ers told  me  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  cap  or  percussion 
locks,  that  they  were  unreliable,  and  that  if  I  got  my  caps 
or  percussion  wet  I  could  not  shoot,  while  if  I  lost  my 


126  The  Westward  Movement 

flint  I  could  pick  up  another  on  the  plains.  I  doubt  whether 
there  was  one  hundred  dollars  in  money  in  the  whole  party, 
but  all  were  enthusiastic  and  anxious  to  go. 

In  five  days  after  my  arrival  we  were  ready  to  start,  but 
no  one  knew  where  to  go,  not  even  the  captain.  Finally 
a  man  came  up,  one  of  the  last  to  arrive,  and  announced 
that  a  company  of  Catholic  missionaries  were  on  their 
way  from  St.  Louis  to  the  Flathead  nation  of  Indians  with 
an  old  Rocky  Mountaineer  for  a  guide,  and  that  if  we 
would  wait  another  day  they  would  be  up  with  us.  At 
first  we  were  independent,  and  thought  we  could  not  af- 
ford to  wait  for  a  slow  missionary  party.  But  when  we 
found  that  no  one  knew  which  way  to  go,  we  sobered 
down  and  waited  for  them  to  come  up ;  and  it  was  well  we 
did,  for  otherwise  probably  not  one  of  us  would  ever  have 
reached  California,  because  of  our  inexperience.  After- 
wards when  we  came  in  contact  with  Indians  our  people 
were  so  easily  excited  that  if  we  had  not  had  with  us  an 
old  mountaineer  the  result  would  certainly  have  been  dis- 
astrous. The  name  of  the  guide  was  Captain  Fitzpatrick; 
he  had  been  at  the  head  of  trapping  parties  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  for  many  years.  He  and  the  missionary  party 
went  with  us  as  far  as  Soda  Springs,  now  in  Idaho  Ter- 
ritory, whence  they  turned  north  to  the  Flathead  nation. 
The  party  consisted  of  three  Roman  Catholic  priests  — 
Father  De  Smet,  Father  Pont,  Father  Mengarini  —  and 
ten  or  eleven  French  Canadians,  and  accompanying  them 
were  an  old  mountaineer  named  John  Gray  and  a  young 
Englishman  named  Romaine,  and  also  a  man  named  Baker. 
They  seemed  glad  to  have  us  with  them,  and  we  certainly 
were  glad  to  have  their  company.  Father  De  Smet  had 
been  to  the  Flathead  nation  before.  He  had  gone  out 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     127 

with  a  trapping  party,  and  on  his  return  had  traveled  with 
only  a  guide  by  another  route,  farther  to  the  north  and 
through  hostile  tribes.  He  was  genial,  of  fine  presence, 
and  one  of  the  saintliest  men  I  have  ever  known,  and  I 
cannot  wonder  that  the  Indians  were  made  to  believe  him 


A  powwow  with  Cheyennes. 

divinely  protected.  He  was  a  man  of  great  kindness  and 
great  affability  under  all  circumstances;  nothing  seemed  to 
disturb  his  temper.  The  Canadians  had  mules  and  Red 
River  carts,  instead  of  wagons  and  horses  —  two  mules  to 
each  cart,  five  or  six  of  them  —  and  in  case  of  steep  hills 
they  would  hitch  three  or  four  of  the  animals  to  one  cart, 
always  working  them  tandem.  Sometimes  a  cart  would  go 
over,  breaking  everything  in  it  to  pieces;  and  at  such  times 
Father  De  Smet  would  be  just  the  same  —  beaming  with 
good  humor. 


128 


The  Westward  Movement 


In  general  our  route  lay  from  near  Westport,  where 
Kansas  City  now  is,  northwesterly  over  the  prairie,  cross- 
ing several  streams,  till  we  struck  the  Platte  River.  Then 

o 

we  followed  along  the  south  side  of  the  Platte  to  and  a 


Water ! 

day's  journey  or  so  along  the  South  Fork.  Here  the  fea- 
tures of  the  country  became  more  bold  and  interesting. 
Then  crossing  the  South  Fork  of  the  Platte,  and  follow- 
ing up  the  north  side  for  a  day  or  so,  we  went  over  to 
the  North  Fork  and  camped  at  Ash  Hollow;  thence  up 
the  north  side  of  that  fork,  passing  those  noted  landmarks 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     129 

known  as  the  Court  House  Rocks,  Chimney  Rock,  Scott's 
Bluffs,  etc.,  till  we  came  to  Fort  Laramie,  a  trading  post 
of  the  American  Fur  Company,  near  which  was  Lupton's 
Fort,  belonging,  as  I  understood,  to  some  rival  company. 
Thence  after  several  days  we  came  to  another  noted  land- 
mark called  Independence  Rock,  on  a  branch  of  the  North 
Platte  called  the  Sweetwater,  which  we  followed  up  to  the 
head,  soon  after  striking  the  Little  Sandy,  and  then  the 
Big  Sandy,  which  empties  into  Green  River.  Next  we 
crossed  Green  River  to  Black  Fork,  which  we  followed 
up  till  we  came  to  Ham's  Fork,  at  the  head  of  which  we 
crossed  the  divide  between  Green  and  Bear  Rivers.  Then 
we  followed  Bear  River  down  to  Soda  Springs.  The 
waters  of  Bear  Lake  discharged  through  that  river,  which 
we  continued  to  follow  down  on  the  west  side  till  we  came 
to  Salt  Lake.  Then  we  went  around  the  north  end  of  the 
lake  and  struck  out  to  the  west  and  southwest. 

For  a  time,  until  we  reached  the  Platte  River,  one  day 
was  much  like  another.  We  set  forth  every  morning  and 
camped  every  night,  detailing  men  to  stand  guard.  Cap- 
tain Fitzpatrick  and  the  missionary  party  would  generally 
take  the  lead  and  we  would  follow.  Fitzpatrick  knew  all 
about  the  Indian  tribes,  and  when  there  was  any  danger 
we  kept  in  a  more  compact  body,  to  protect  one  another. 
At  other  times  we  would  be  scattered  along,  sometimes  for 
half  a  mile  or  more.  We  were  generally  together,  be- 
cause there  was  often  work  to  be  done  to  avoid  delay. 
We  had  to  make  the  road,  frequently  digging  down  steep 
banks,  filling  gulches,  removing  stones,  etc.  In  such  cases 
everybody  would  take  a  spade  or  do  something  to  help 
make  the  road  passable.  When  we  camped  at  night  we 
usually  drew  the  wagons  and  carts  together  in  a  hollow 


130  The  Westward  Movement 

square  and  picketed  our  animals  inside  in  the  corral.  The 
wagons  were  common  ones  and  of  no  special  pattern,  and 
some  of  them  were  covered.  The  tongue  of  one  would 
be  fastened  to  the  back  of  another.  To  lessen  the  danger 
from  Indians,  we  usually  had  no  fires  at  night  and  did  our 
cooking  in  the  daytime. 

The  first  incident  was  a  scare  that  we  had  from  a  party 
of  Cheyenne  Indians  just  before  we  reached  the  Platte 
River,  about  two  weeks  after  we  set  out.  One  of  our 
men  who  chanced  to  be  out  hunting,  some  distance  from 
the  company  and  behind  us,  suddenly  appeared  without 
mule,  gun  or  pistol,  and  lacking  most  of  his  clothes,  and 
in  great  excitement  reported  that  he  had  been  surrounded 
by  thousands  of  Indians.  The  company,  too,  became  ex- 
cited, and  Captain  Fitzpatrick  tried,  but  with  little  effect, 
to  control  and  pacify  them.  Every  man  started  his  team 
into  a  run,  till  the  oxen,  like  the  mules  and  horses,  were 
in  a  full  gallop.  Captain  Fitzpatrick  went  ahead  and  di- 
rected them  to  follow,  and  as  fast  as  they  came  to  the  bank 
of  the  river  he  put  the  wagons  in  the  form  of  a  hollow 
square  and  had  all  the  animals  securely  picketed  within. 
After  a  while  the  Indians  came  in  sight.  There  were  only 
forty  of  them,  but  they  were  well  mounted  on  horses,  and 
were  evidently  a  war  party,  for  they  had  no  women  ex- 
cept one,  a  medicine  woman.  They  came  up  and  camped 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  us  on  the  river  below.  Fitz- 
patrick told  us  that  they  would  not  have  come  in  that  way 
if  they  were  hostile.  Our  hunter  in  his  excitement  said 
that  there  were  thousands  of  them,  and  that  they  had 
robbed  him  of  his  gun,  mule  and  pistol.  When  the  In- 
dians had  put  up  their  lodges  Fitzpatrick  and  John  Gray, 
the  old  hunter  mentioned,  went  out  to  them  and  by  signs 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     131 

were  made  to  understand  that  the  Indians  did  not  intend  to 
hurt  the  man  or  to  take  his  mule  or  gun,  but  that  he  was 
so  excited  when  he  saW  them  that  they  had  to  disarm  him 
to  keep  him  from  shooting  them ;  they  did  not  know  what 
had  become  of  his  pistol  or  of  his  clothes,  which  he  said 
they  had  torn  off.  They  surrendered  the  mule  and  the 
gun,  thus  showing  that  they  were  friendly.  They  proved 
to  be  Cheyenne  Indians.  Ever  afterwards  that  man  went 
by  the  name  of  Cheyenne  Dawson. 

On  the  Platte  River,  on  the  afternoon  of  one  of  the 
hottest  days  we  experienced  on  the  plains,  we  had  a  taste 
of  a  cyclone :  first  came  a  terrific  shower,  followed  by  a 
fall  of  hail  to  the  depth  of  four  inches,  some  of  the  stones 
being  as  large  as  turkeys'  eggs ;  and  the  next  day  a  water- 
spout —  an  angry,  huge,  whirling  cloud  column,  which 
seemed  to  draw  its  water  from  the  Platte  River  —  passed 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind  us.  We  stopped  and 
braced  ourselves  against  our  wagons  to  keep  them  from 
being  overturned.  Had  it  struck  us  it  doubtless  would 
have  demolished  us. 

Guided  by  Fitzpatrick,  we  crossed  the  Rockies  at  or  near 
the  South  Pass,  where  the  mountains  were  apparently  low. 
Some  years  before  a  man  named  William  Subletts,  an  In- 
dian fur  trader,  went  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  with  goods 
in  wagons,  and  those  were  the  only  wagons  that  had  ever 
been  there  before  us ;  sometimes  we  came  across  the  tracks, 
but  generally  they  were  obliterated,  and  thus  were  of  no 
service.  Approaching  Green  River  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, it  was  found  that  some  of  the  wagons,  including 
Captain  Bartleson's,  had  alcohol  on  board,  and  that  the 
owners  wanted  to  find  trappers  in  the  Rocky  Mountains 
to  whom  they  might  sell  it.  This  was  a  surprise  to  many 


132 


The  Westward  Movement 


of  us,  as  there  had  been  no  drinking  on  the  way.  John 
Gray  was  sent  ahead  to  see  if  he  could  find  a  trapping  party, 
and  he  was  instructed,  if  successful,  to  have  them  come  to 
a  certain  place  on  Green  River.  He  struck  a  trail,  and 

overtook  a  party  on  their 
way  to  the  buffalo  region  to 
lay  in  provisions,  i.  e.,  buffa- 
lo meat,  and  they  returned, 
and  came  and  camped  on 
Green  River  very  soon  after 
our  arrival,  buying  the 
greater  part,  if  not  all,  of 
the  alcohol,  it  first  having 
been  diluted  so  as  to  make 
what  they  called  whisky  — 
three  or  four  gallons  of 
water  to  a  gallon  of  alcohol. 
Years  afterwards  we  heard 
of  the  fate  of  that  party: 
they  were  attacked  by  In- 
dians the  very  first  night 
after  they  left  us  and 
several  of  them  killed,  in- 
cluding the  captain  of  the 
trapping  party,  whose  name 
was  Frapp.  The  whisky 
was  probably  the  cause. 

As  I  have  said,  at  Soda 
Springs  —  at  the  northern- 
most bend  of  Bear  River  — 
our  party  separated. 

We  were  now  thrown  en- 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     133 

tirely  upon  our  own  resources.  All  the  country  beyond  was 
to  us  a  veritable  terra  incognita,  and  we  only  knew  that 
California  lay  to  the  west.  Captain  Fitzpatrick  was  not 
much  better  informed,  but  he  had  heard  that  parties  had 
penetrated  the  country  to  the  southwest  and  west  of  Salt 
Lake  to  trap  for  beaver ;  and  by  his  advice  four  of  our  men 
went  with  the  parties  to  Fort  Hall  to  consult  Captain  Grant, 
who  was  in  charge  there,  and  to  gain  information.  Mean- 
while our  depleted  party  slowly  made  its  way  down  the 
west  side  of  Bear  River. 

One  morning,  just  as  we  were  packing  up,  a  party  of 
about  ninety  Indians,  on  horseback,  a  regular  war  party, 
were  descried  coming  up.  Some  of  us  begged  the  captain 
to  send  men  out  to  prevent  them  from  coming  to  us  while 
we  were  in  the  confusion  of  packing.  But  he  said,  "  Boys, 
you  must  not  show  any  sign  of  hostility;  if  you  go  out 
there  with  guns  the  Indians  will  think  us  hostile,  and  may 
get  mad  and  hurt  us."  However,  five  or  six  of  us  took 
our  guns  and  went  out,  and  by  signs  made  them  halt.  They 
did  not  prove  to  be  hostile,  but  they  had  carbines,  and  if 
we  had  been  careless  and  had  let  them  come  near  they 
might,  and  probably  would,  have  killed  us.  At  last  we 
got  packed  up  and  started,  and  the  Indians  traveled  along 
three  or  four  hundred  yards  one  side  or  the  other  of  us 
or  behind  us  all  day.  They  appeared  anxious  to  trade, 
and  offered  a  buckskin,  well  dressed,  worth  two  or  three 
dollars,  for  three  or  four  charges  of  powder  and  three 
or  four  balls.  This  showed  that  they  were  in  want  of 
ammunition.  The  carbines  indicated  that  they  had  had 
communication  with  some  trading-post  belonging  to  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  They  had  buffalo-robes  also, 
which  showed  that  they  were  a  roving  hunting  party,  as 


L34  The  Westward  Movement 

there  were  no  buffaloes  within  three  or  four  hundred  miles. 
At  this  time  I  had  spoken  my  mind  pretty  freely  con- 
cerning Captain  Bartleson's  lack  of  judgment,  as  one  could 
scarcely  help  doing  under  the  circumstances. 

We  now  got  into  a  country  where  there  was  no  grass 
nor  water,  and  then  we  began  to  catechize  the  men  who 
had  gone  to  Fort  Hall.  They  repeated,  "If  you  go  too 
far  south  you  will  get  into  a  desert. country  and  your  ani- 
mals will  perish;  there  will  be  no  water  nor  grass." 

Our  course  was  first  westward  and  then  southward,  fol- 
lowing a  river  for  many  days,  till  we  came  to  its  Sink, 
near  which  we  saw  a  solitary  horse,  an  indication  that 
trappers  had  sometime  been  in  that  vicinity.  We  tried  to 
catch  him  but  failed;  he  had  been  there  long  enough  to  be- 
come very  wild.  We  saw  many  Indians  on  the  Humboldt, 
especially  towards  the  Sink.  There  were  many  tule  marshes. 
The  tule  is  a  rush,  large,  but  here  not  very  tall.  It  was 
generally  completely  covered  with  honeydew,  and  this  in 
turn  was  wholly  covered  with  a  pediculous-looking  insect 
which  fed  upon  it.  The  Indians  gathered  quantities  of 
the  honey  and  pressed  it  into  balls  about  the  size  of  one's 
fist,  having  the  appearance  of  wet  bran.  At  first  we 
greatly  relished  this  Indian  food,  but  when  we  saw  what  it 
was  made  of  —  that  the  insects  pressed  into  the  mass  were 
the  main  ingredient  —  we  lost  our  appetites  and  bought 
no  more  of  it. 

From  the  time  we  left  our  wagons  many  had  to  walk, 
and  more  and  more  as  we  advanced.  Going  down  the 
Humboldt  at  least  half  were  on  foot.  Provisions  had 
given  out;  except  a  little  coarse  green  grass  among  the 
willows  along  the  river  the  country  was  dry,  bare,  and 
desolate;  we  saw  no  game  except  antelope,  and  they  were 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     135 

scarce  and  hard  to  kill;  and  walking  was  very  fatiguing. 
Tobacco  lovers  would  surrender  their  animals  for  any 
one  to  ride  who  would  furnish  them  with  an  ounce  or  two 
to  chew  during  the  day.  One  day  one  of  these  devotees 
lost  his  tobacco  and  went  back  for  it,  but  failed  to  find  it. 
An  Indian  in  a  friendly  manner  overtook  us,  bringing  the 
piece  of  tobacco,  which  he  had  found  on  our  trail  or  at 
our  latest  camp,  and  surrendered  it.  The  owner,  instead  of 


being  thankful,  accused  the  Indian  of  having  stolen  it  — 
an  impossibility,  as  we  had  seen  no  Indians  or  Indian  signs 
for  some  days.  Perhaps  the  Indian  did  not  know  what 
it  was,  else  he  might  have  kept  it  for  smoking.  But  I 
think  otherwise,  for,  patting  his  breast,  he  said,  "  Shoshone, 
Shoshone,"  which  was  the  Indian  way  of  showing  he  was 
friendly.  The  Shoshones  were  known  as  always  friendly 
to  the  whites,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  how  other  and 
distant  tribes  might  claim  to  be  Shoshones  as  a  passport 
to  favor. 

On  the  Humboldt  we  had  a  further  division  of  our  ranks. 
In  going  down  the  river  we  went  sometimes  on  one  side 
and  sometimes  on  the  other,  but  mostly  on  the  north  side, 
till  we  were  nearing  what  are  now  known  as  the  Hum- 
boldt Mountains.  We  were  getting  tired,  and  some  were 


136  The  Westward  Movement 

in  favor  of  leaving  the  oxen,  of  which  we  then  had  only 
about  seven  or  eight,  and  rushing  on  into  California. 
They  said  there  was  plenty  of  beef  in  California.  But 
some  of  us  said:  "No;  our  oxen  are  now  our  only 
supply  of  food.  We  are  doing  well,  making  eighteen  or 
twenty  miles  a  day." 

Leaving  the  Sink  of  the  Humboldt,  we  crossed  a  con- 
siderable stream  which  must  have  been  Carson  River,  and 
came  to  another  stream  which  must  have  been  Walker 
River,  and  followed  it  up  to  where  it  came  out  of  the 
mountains,  which  proved  to  be  the  Sierra  Nevada.  We 
did  not  know  the  name  of  the  mountains.  Neither  had 
these  rivers  then  been  named;  nor  had  they  been  seen 
by  Kit  Carson  or  Joe  Walker,  for  whom  they  were  named, 
nor  were  they  seen  until  1845  by  Fremont,  who  named  them. 

We  were  now  in  what  is  at  present  Nevada,  and  prob- 
ably within  forty  miles  of  the  present  boundary  of  Cal- 
ifornia. 

We  went  on,  traveling  west  as  near  as  we  could.  When 
we  killed  our  last  ox  we  shot  and  ate  crows  or  anything 
we  could  kill,  and  one  man  shot  a  wild-cat.  We  could 


Wagon  train  near  the  junction  of  the  forks  of  the  Platte. 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     137 

eat  anything.  One  day  in  the  morning  I  went  ahead,  on 
foot  of  course,  to  see  if  I  could  kill  something,  it  being 
understood  that  the  company  would  keep  on  as  near  west 
as  possible  and  find  a  practicable  road.  I  followed  an  In- 
dian trail  down  into  the  canon,  meeting  many  Indians  on 
the  way  up.  They  did  not  molest  me,  but  I  did  not  quite 
like  their  looks.  I  went  about  ten  miles  down  the  canon, 
and  then  began  to  think  it  time  to  strike  north  to  intersect 
the  trail  on  the  company  going  west.  A  most  difficult 
time  I  had  scaling  the  precipice.  Once  I  threw  my  gun 
up  ahead  of  me,  being  unable  to  hold  it  and  climb,  and 
then  was  in  despair  lest  I  could  not  get  up  where  it  was, 
but  finally  I  did  barely  manage  to  do  so,  and  made  my 
way  north.  As  the  darkness  came  on  I  was  obliged  to  look 
down  and  feel  with  my  feet  lest  I  should  pass  over  the 
trail  of  the  party  without  seeing  it.  Just  at  dark  I  came 
to  an  enormous  fallen  tree  and  tried  to  go  around  the 
top,  but  the  place  was  too  brushy,  so  I  went  around  the 
butt,  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  about  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  feet  above  my  head.  This  I  suppose  to  have  been  one 
of  the  fallen  trees  in  the  Calaveras  Grove  of  Sequoia 
gigantea  or  mammoth  trees,  as.  I  have  since  been  there, 
and  to  my  own  satisfaction  identified  the  lay  of  the  land 
and  the  tree.  Hence  I  concluded  that  I  must  have  been 
the  first  white  man  who  ever  saw  the  Sequoia  gigantea, 
of  which  I  told  Fremont  when  he  came  to  California  in 
1844.  Of  course  sleep  was  impossible,  for  I  had  neither 
blanket  nor  coat,  and  burned  or  froze  alternately  as  I 
turned  from  one  side  to  the  other  before  the  small  fire  which 
I  had  built,  until  morning,  when  I  started  eastward  to  inter- 
sect the  trail,  thinking  the  company  had  turned  north.  But 
I  traveled  until  noon  and  found  no  trail ;  then  striking  south, 


138  The  Westward  Movement 

I  came  to  the  camp  which  I  had  left  the  previous  morning. 
The  party  had  gone,  but  not  where  they  had  said  they 
would  go;  for  they  had  taken  the  same  trail  I  had  fol- 
lowed, into  the  canon,  and  had  gone  up  the  south  side, 
which  they  had  found  so  steep  that  many  of  the  poor 
animals  could  not  climb  it  and  had  to  be  left.  When  I 
arrived  the  Indians  were  there  cutting  the  horses  to  pieces 
and  carrying  off  the  meat.  My  situation,  alone  among 
strange  Indians  killing  our  poor  horses,  was  by  no  means 
comfortable.  Afterward  we  found  that  these  Indians  were 
always  at  war  with  the  Calif ornians.  They  were  known  as 
the  Horse  Thief  Indians,  and  lived  chiefly  on  horse  flesh ; 
they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  raiding  the  ranches  even 
to  the  very  coast,  driving  away  horses  by  the  hundreds 
into  the  mountains  to  eat.  That  night  after  dark  I  over- 
took the  party  in  camp. 

We  were  now  on  the  edge  of  the  San  Joaquin  Valley, 
but  we  did  not  even  know  that  we  were  in  California. 

As  soon  as  we  came  in  sight  of  the  bottom  land  of  the 
stream  we  saw  an  abundance  of  antelopes  and  sandhill 
cranes.  We  killed  two  of  each  the  first  evening.  Wild 
grapes  also  abounded.  The  next  day  we  killed  thirteen 
deer  and  antelopes,  jerked  the  meat  and  got  ready  to  go 
on,  all  except  the  captain's  mess  of  seven  or  eight,  who 
decided  to  stay  there  and  lay  in  meat  enough  to  last  them 
into  California!  We  were  really  almost  down  to  tide- 
water, but  did  not  know  it. 

The  next  day,  judging  by  the  timber  we  saw,  we  con- 
cluded there  was  a  river  to  the  west.  So  two  men  went 
ahead  to  see  if  they  could  find  a  trail  or  a  crossing.  The 
timber  seen  proved  to  be  along  what  it  now  known  as  the 
San  Joaquin  River.  We  sent  two  men  on  ahead  to  spy 


First  Emigrant  Train  to  California     139 

out  the  country.  At  night  one  of  them  returned  saying 
they  had  come  across  an  Indian  on  horseback  without  a 
saddle  who  wore  a  cloth  jacket  but  no  other  clothing. 
From  what  they  could  understand  the  Indian  knew  Dr. 
Marsh  and  had  offered  to  guide  them  to  his  place.  He 
plainly  said  "  Marsh,"  and  of  course  we  supposed  it  was 
the  Dr.  Marsh  before  referred  to  who  had  written  the  letter 
to  a  friend  in  Jackson  County,  Missouri,  and  so  it  proved. 
One  man  went  with  the  Indian  to  Marsh's  ranch  and  the 
other  came  back  to  tell  us  what  he  had  done,  with  the  sug- 
gestion that  we  should  go  on  and  cross  the  river  (San 
Joaquin)  at  the  place  to  which  the  trail  was  leading.  In 
that,  way  we  found  ourselves  two  days  later  at  Dr.  Marsh's 
ranch,  and  there  we  learned  that  we  were  really  in  Cal- 
ifornia and  our  journey  at  an  end.  After  six  months  we 
had  now  arrived  at  the  first  settlement  in  California,  No' 
vember  4,  1841. 


OF  FRfiMONT'S  EXPEDITIONS 

BY  M.  N.  O. 


FULL  account  of  the  exploring  ex- 
peditions of  John  C.  Fremont  would 
form  almost  a  complete  history  of  the 
great  West  during  that  time  —  from 
June,  1842,  to  February,  1854.  The 
three  earlier  expeditions  were  made  at 
the  expense  and  under  the  direction  of 
the  Government.  The  two  later  ones 
were  private  ventures. 
The  first  expedition  left  Choteau's  Landing,  near  the  site 
of  Kansas  City,  on  June  10,  1842.  The  party  consisted 
of  twenty-eight  members,  with  Fremont  in  command, 
Charles  Preuss,  topographical  engineer,  Lucien  Maxwell, 
hunter,  and  Kit  Carson,  guide.  It  was  accompanied  by 
Henry  Brant,  a  son  of  Colonel  J.  H.  Brant,  of  St.  Louis, 
and  Randolph  Benton,  Fremont's  brother-in-law,  a  boy 
of  twelve.  The  remainder  of  the  party,  twenty-two  in 
number,  were  principally  Creole  or  Canadian  voyagcurs. 
The  party  was  well  armed  and  mounted,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  eight  cart-drivers.  For  some  distance  the  ex- 
pedition followed  very  nearly  the  route  taken  by  the  first 
emigrant  train,  of  which  General  Bidwell  was  a  member, 
and,  like  them,  met  vast  herds  of  buffaloes  and  other  game. 
This  route  followed  the  general  line  of  the  Kansas  and 
Platte  Rivers,  and  for  forty  miles  beyond  the  junction  of 


140 


Resume  of  Fremont's  Expeditions     141 

the  North  and  South  Forks  of  the  Platte  it  kept  close  to 
the  latter.  At  this  point  the  party  separated,  Fremont  with 
five  men  continuing  along  the  South  Fork,  while  the  others 
struck  across  country  to  the  North  Fork,  and,  resuming 
the  emigrant  route,  passed  by  Scott's  Bluff,  Chimney  Rock, 
and  other  landmarks.  At  Fort  Laramie  they  were  re- 
united early  in  July.  Every  obstruction  was  thrown  in 
the  way  of  their  advance.  The  trappers,  under  the  well- 
known  mountaineer,  Jim  Bridger,  warned  them  against 
the  danger  of  proceeding;  and  the  Indians  at  Fort  Lara- 
mie threatened  them  with  destruction  if  they  insisted  upon 
advancing.  But  warnings  and  threats  alike  failed.  In  a 
council  held  at  Fort  Laramie  Fremont  announced  his  in- 
tention of  pressing  on  in  pursuance  of  his  original  plans. 

On  the  28th  of  July  it  was  decided  that  the  party  should 
conceal  its  impedimenta  and  push  forward  in  light  march- 
ing order. 

The  Rocky  Mountains  were  crossed  at  South  Pass  on  the 
8th  of  August,  and  the  party  then  struck  northward,  now 
for  the  first  time  traveling  over  -  itrodden  ground.  After 
many  adventures  and  much  hardship  they  reached  the  Wind 
River  Mountains;  the  highest  peak,  named,  after  the  first 
man  to  make  the  ascent,  Fremont's  Peak,  was  scaled,  and 
the  American  flag  planted  upon  its  summit.  This  moun- 
tain, perhaps  the  loftiest  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  system, 
is  13,570  feet  in  height.  From  this  point  the  party  re- 
turned by  way  of  the  Nebraska  River,  reaching  St.  Louis 
on  the  1 7th  of  October. 

The  second  expedition  started  in  the  spring  of  1843. 
Fremont  received  instructions  to  connect  his  explorations 
of  1842  with  the  surveys  of  Commander  Wilkes  on  the 
Pacific  coast.  There  were  thirty-nine  men  in  the  party. 


142  The  Westward  Movement 


View  of  the  dry  bed  of  the  South  Fork  of  the  Platte  (1890). 

Mr.  Preuss  was  again  topographical  engineer;  Thomas 
Fitzpatrick  was  guide.  Theodore  Talbot  and  Frederick 
Dwight  joined  the  party  for  personal  reasons.  These  with 
thirty-two  white  men,  a  free  colored  man,  Jacob  Dodson, 
and  two  Delaware  Indians,  completed  the  number. 

The  preparations  for  departure  being  completed,  on  the 
29th  of  May  the  party  set  out,  following  the  general  direc- 
tion taken  by  the  first  expedition  but  farther  to  the  south, 
crossing  the  two  forks  of  the  Kansas  and  reaching  Fort 
St.  Vrain  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  Instead  of  turning 
directly  north  to  Fort  Laramie,  as  he  had  done  in  1842. 
Fremont  took  a  westerly  course.  On  the  I4th,  at  the  point 
where  the  Boiling  Spring  River  enters  the  Arkansas,  the 
party  were  delighted  to  meet  Kit  Carson,  and  to  secure  his 
services  as  guide.  Several  parties  had  been  sent  out  to 
secure  supplies.  Failing  in  this,  they  returned  to  Fort 
St.  Vrain.  At  this  point  Alexis  Godey  was  engaged  as 
hunter.  Fremont  says,  "  In  courage  and  professional  skill 
he  was  a  formidable  rival  to  Carson."  Going  through  the 
Medicine  Butte  Pass,  following  the  Platte  and  the  Sweet- 
water,  they  crossed  the  South  Pass  and  struck  directly  west- 
ward to  the  Bear  River,  which,  flowing  in  a  southerly 


:ny 


Resume  of  Fremont's  Expeditions      143 

direction,  empties  into  Great  Salt  Lake.  After  some  ex- 
ploration of  its  northern  end,  on  the  i8th  of  September  the 
party  were  again  united  at  Fort  Hall  on  the  Shoshone, 
and  preparations  were  made  to  push  on  to  the  Columbia. 
The  cold  and  the  scarcity  of  provisions  decided  Fremont 
to  send  back  a  number  of  the  men  who  had  so  far  accom- 
panied him.  Eleven  men,  among  them  Basil  Lajeunesse, 
who  was  an  extremely  valuable  man,  returned,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  to  their  homes.  The  remnant  of  the 
party  pushed  on,  following  the  course  of  the  Snake  River 
to  Walla  Walla.  On  the  4th  of  November  they  passed 
the  Dalles  of  the  Columbia,  and  a  few  days  later  reached 
Fort  Vancouver.  A  number  of  excursions  in  the  vicinity 
brought  into  view  the  snow-covered  peaks  of  Mount 
Rainier  (Mount  Tacoma),  Mount  St.  Helen's,  and  Mount 
Hood.  On  the  25th  of  November  the  party  began  its 
homeward  trip,  which  was  accomplished  by  a  wide  south- 
erly sweep,  and  through  much  privation,  danger,  and  suf- 
fering. The  path  lay  first  down  through  Oregon  and  Cal- 
ifornia, over  the  snowy  passes  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  by 


Independence  Rock,  Sweetwater  River. 


144  The  Westward  Movement 

the  waters  of  the  Sacramento  to  Sutter's  Fort.  The  ex- 
periences of  travel  on  the  snow-covered  mountains,  through 
which  their  way  had  to  be  broken,  were  terrible.  Worn 
out,  sometimes  crazed  by  exposure  and  suffering,  one  man 
after  another  would  wander  off  and  get  lost,  and  the 
strength  of  the  rest,  which  was  weakness  at  best,  would 
be  taxed  to  hunt  up  the  wanderers.  At  last  the  strag- 
glers were  all  gathered  in  except  Baptiste  Derosier,  who 
was  given  up  for  lost,  but  who  turned  up  two  years  later 
in  St.  Louis. 

This  expedition  through  the  great  valley  lying  between 
the  Rockies  on  the  east  and  the  Sierra  Nevada  on  the  west 
opened  up  a  country  unknown  except  to  Indians  and 
trappers,  and  disproved  the  idea,  which  had  hitherto  been 
accepted  as  fact,  that  a  great  waterway  led  directly  west- 
ward through  the  Sierra  to  the  Pacific  coast.  After  an 
excursion  to  San  Francisco  the  route  southward  was  re- 
sumed, along  the  direction  of  the  coast  and  about  one 
hundred  miles  east  of  it,  to  a  point  not  far  from  Los 
Angeles,  then  curving  up  and  proceeding  due  north- 
easterly and  then  northerly  till  Great  Salt  Lake  was  again 
reached  at  its  southern  extremity.  This  great  reentrant 
curve  of  three  thousand  five  hundred  miles  was  traveled 
over  in  eight  months,  during  the  severities  of  a  winter  in 
the  mountains  and  never  once  out  of  sight  of  snow.  Dur- 
ing these  eight  months  no  word  had  come  back  to  the  East 
from  the  party,  and  grave  fears  were  entertained  for  their 
safety. 

The  third  and  last  Government  expedition  set  out  in  the 
autumn  of  1845.  The  object  in  view  was  to  follow  up 
the  Arkansas  River  to  its  source  in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
to  complete  the  exploration  of  Great  Salt  Lake,  and  to 


Resume  of  Fremont's  Expeditions     145 

• 
extend  the  survey   westward   and   southwestward   to   the 

Cascades  and  the  Sierra  Nevada,  in  order  to  ascertain  the 
best  route  by  which  to  reach  the  Pacific  coast  in  this  lower 
latitude.  Matters  were  in  a  very  unsettled  condition;  the 
Mexican  war  was  impending,  and  trouble  was  brooding 


Laramie  Peak,  from  one  of  the  old  mountain  trails. 

over  our  southwestern  possessions.  Before  going  on  this 
expedition  Fremont  was  brevetted  lieutenant  and  captain 
at  the  same  time. 

Bent's  Fort  was  reached  as  expeditiously  as  possible, 
since  the  real  object  of  the  exploration  lay  beyond  the 
Rockies,  and  the  winter  was  fast  approaching.  The  per- 
sonnel of  the  party  it  is  difficult  to  find.  Edward  Kern 
took  the  place  of  Mr.  Preuss  as  topographer;  he  was  also 
a  valuable  acquisition  to  the  party  because  of  his  artistic 
ability.  Lieutenants  Abert  and  Peck  were  under  Fre- 


146  The  Westward  Movement 

mont's  command.  Jacob  Dodson,  the  colored  man  who 
accompanied  the  second  expedition,  and  a  Chinook  Indian 
who  had  gone  back  to  Washington  with  Fremont,  and  two 
gentlemen,  James  McDowell  and  Theodore  Talbot,  ac- 
companied the  expedition.  Fitzpatrick  again  served  as 
guide  and  Hatcher  as  hunter.  Later  they  were  joined  by 
Alexis  Godey,  Kit  Carson,  and  Richard  Owens,  three  men 
who,  under  Napoleon,  says  Fremont,  would  have  been 
made  marshals  because  of  their  cool  courage,  keenness,  and 
resolution.  When  they  set  out  from  Bent's  Fort  the  party 
numbered  sixty  members,  many  of  them  Fremont's  old 
companions.  After  a  short  and  easy  journey  they  reached 
the  southern  end  of  Great  Salt  Lake,  and  spent  two  weeks 
exploring  it  and  fixing  certain  points.  Then  they  struck 
out  in  a  westerly  direction,  across  the  dreary,  barren  des- 
ert west  of  Great  Salt  Lake  to  the  foot  of  the  Sierra,  by 
way  of  the  Humboldt  River.  When  the  party,  after  fol- 
lowing two  routes,  met  again  at  Walker's  Lake,  Fremont 
found  his  men  too  worn  and  exhausted  and  the  stock  of 
provisions  too  low  to  think  of  trying  to  cross  the  moun- 
tains together,  so  the  party  was  again  divided.  Fremont 
with  fifteen  picked  men  undertook  to  cross  the  mountains, 
get  relief  at  Sutter's,  and  meet  the  other  and  weaker  party. 
These  he  ordered  to  go  southward,  skirting  the  eastern 
base  of  the  Sierra  till  a  warmer  climate  and  more  open 
passes  were  found,  and  to  meet  him  at  an  appointed  place. 
In  ten  days  Fremont  reached  Sutter's  Fort,  laid  in  his  sup- 
plies of  cattle,  horses,  and  provisions,  and  proceeded  to 
the  appointed  place,  but  no  signs  of  Talbot's  party  were 
to  be  seen.  Owing  to  a  mistake  each  party  went  to  a  dif- 
ferent place.  Both  halted,  and  turned  about,  hoping  to 
effect  a  junction,  but  to  no  purpose.  Fremont  suffered 


Resume  of  Fremont's  Expeditions      147 

severely  from  the  attacks  of  hostile  Indians.  Finally  each 
party  found  its  way  separately  to  the  California  settlements. 
Then  followed  a  conflict  concerning  which  there  is  much 
controversy.  Fremont  was  compelled  by  the  Mexican  gov- 
ernor to  retire  to  Oregon.  After  serious  conflicts  with  the 
Klamath  Indians  he  returned  to  take  part  in  the  Bear  Flag 
insurrection,  which  was  the  occasion  of  the  conquest  of 
the  territory.  A  difference  as  to  precedence  arose  be- 
tween Commodore  Stockton  of  the  naval  and  General 
Kearny  of  the  land  forces.  Fremont  chose  to  serve  under 
Stockton,  as  it  was  from  him  in  the  first  instance,  before 
Kearny  arrived,  that  he  had  received  his  orders.  He  was 
court-martialed  for  mutiny  and  disobedience  to  his  superior 
officer,  and  was  found  guilty,  but  was  pardoned  in  con- 
sideration of  his  distinguished  services  to  his  country. 
Feeling  that  the  verdict  was  unjust,  he  threw  up  his  com- 
mission, and  so  ended  the  last  Government  expedition. 

The  fourth  expedition  was  a  private  venture  made  at 
Fremont's  own  risk  and  that  of  Senator  Benton.  The 
party  followed  for  some  distance  the  route  along  the 
Kansas,  turning  southward  at  the  junction  of  the  two  forks, 
and  striking  across  to  the  Arkansas,  and  so  on  as  far  as 
Bent's  Fort.  On  November  25,  1848,  the  party,  thirty-two 
in  number,  left  the  upper  pueblo  of  the  Arkansas  with  one 
hundred  good  mules  and  ample  provision  for  crossing  the 
St.  Johns  Mountains,  part  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  System. 
They  had  for  guide  a  well-known  mountaineer,  Bill  Will- 
iams, but  he  proved  a  blind  leader  of  the  blind.  Instead 
of  finding  a  pass,  he  led  the  party  over  the  top  of  the 
highest  mountains,  where  there  was  no  pasturage  and  where 
they  were  exposed  to  intense  suffering  and  toil  and  terrible 
loss  of  life:  every  mule  and  horse,  and  one-third  of  the 


148 


The  Westward  Movement 


men,  perished  from  starvation  or  freezing.  The  rescued 
remnant  of  the  party  moved  southward  to  Taos,  and  so  by  a 
more  southerly  route  to  California.  The  addition  made  to 
geographical  knowledge  by  this  disastrous  expedition  was 
not  great.  Fremont  believed  that  if  they  had  not  been  mis- 
led by  their  guide  he  would  have  discovered  the  best  route 
to  California. 

In  March,  1852,  an  appropriation  was  made  by  the  Gov- 
ernment for  further  surveys  of  the  great  western  routes. 
A  highway  and  railroad  were  growing  more  and  more  nec- 
essary since  the  acquisition  of  California.  Fremont,  on  the 
strength  of  this,  determined  to  prove  his  belief  about  the 
central  route  which  he  had  so  disastrously  failed  to  find 
on  his  fourth  expedition.  In  August,  1853,  he  set  out  on 
his  last  expedition.  After  two  weeks'  detention  in  conse- 
quence of  Fremont's  illness,  the  party  was  again  set  in  mo- 


A  brush  with  the  Red?kins. 


Resume  of  Fremont's  Expeditions      149 

tion.  It  crossed  the  Rockies  at  Cochetopa  Pass,  not  far 
above  the  scene  of  the  terrible  suffering  in  the  preceding 
exploration.  For  a  time  it  seemed  as  though  the  experi- 
ences of  the  fourth  expedition  were  going  to  be  repeated. 
Provisions  became  very  scarce,  and  at  last  failed  entirely, 
and  then  the  explorers  began  to  kill  and  devour  their 
horses.  Colonel  Fremont  called  his  men  together  and  made 
them  take  a  solemn  oath  never  to  resort  to  cannibalism,  no 
matter  what  extremities  they  might  reach.  Times  grew 
worse ;  they  were  reduced  to  living  upon  the  hides,  entrails, 
and  burned  bones  of  their  horses.  By  these  and  by  a  certain 
variety  of  cactus  which  they  occasionally  were  able  to  get 
from  under  the  snow,  life  was  sustained.  In  this  way  the 
party  of  twenty-two  lived  for  fifty  days,  tramping  through 
the  snow  with  Fremont  at  their  head  treading  out  a  pathway 
for  his  men.  At  last  the  entire  party  became  barefoot. 
On  February  I  Mr.  Fuller  gave  out.  The  snow  was  very 
deep;  his  feet  were  severely  frozen,  and  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  advance.  He  was  put  upon  one  of  the  remain- 
ing- horses  and  the  men  divided  their  miserable  pittances 
of  rations  to  increase  his.  Almost  in  sight  of  succor  he 
died, —  in  Fremont's  words, — "like  a  man,  on  horseback 
in  his  saddle,  and  we  buried  him  like  a  soldier  on  the  spot 
where  he  fell."  Fremont,  in  the  words  of  Benton,  "  went 
straight  to  the  spot  where  the  guide  had  gone  astray,  fol- 
lowed the  course  described  by  the  mountain  men,  and  found 
safe  and  easy  passes  all  the  way  to  California  through  a 
good  country  and  upon  the  straight  line  of  38°  and  39°." 
It  probably  did  not  seem  such  a  "  safe  and  easy  "  thing  to 
the  starving  and  half-frozen  men  during  those  fifty  days  of 
anguish.  At  last,  after  they  had  been  forty-eight  hours 
without  a  morsel  of  food,  relief  came  to  the  party. 


150  The  Westward  Movement 

Something  of  the  practical  value  of  these  explorations 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  the  great  railroads  con- 
necting East  and  West  lie  in  large  measure  through  the 
country  explored  by  Fremont,  sometimes  in  the  very  lines 
he  followed;  and  this  is  equally  true  of  the  highways. 

The  winter  of  this  last  exploration  was  exceptionally  se- 
vere; and  since  the  point  Fremont  wished  to  demonstrate 
was  the  practicability  of  this  route  in  winter,  the  season  was 
peculiarly  favorable. 


ROUGH   TIMES   IN   ROUGH   PLACES 
A  PERSONAL  NARRATIVE 

BY  C.  G.  McGEHEE 

[The  earlier  explorations  of  Fremont  through  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains and  into  California  — those  of  1842,  1843,  an^  1845  —  were 
made  under  the  direction  and  at  the  expense  of  the  United  States 
Government,  and  of  these  we  have  full  reports.  Far  less  is  known 
of  the  fourth  expedition,  which  he  made  in  1848-49,  at  private 
expense. 

The  following  article  is  made  up  of  the  records  and  diary  of  a 
member  of  the  party,  and  left  at  his  death. 

As  far  as  Pueblo,  on  the  Arkansas  River,  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  this  party  followed  very  nearly  the  same  line 
taken  by  the  expedition  of  1844,  which  in  the  main  follows  the 
present  route  of  railway  travel  on  the  Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa 
Fe  line.  The  experiences  of  the  party  in  their  slow  progress  over 
the  plains  —  their  encounters  with  Indians,  buffaloes,  elk,  ante- 
lopes, and  wild  horses  —  are  not  unique,  and  will,  therefore,  be 
omitted.  We  take  up  the  diary  where  the  old  trail  is  left  and  the 
party  plunges  into  the  unknown  mazes  of  the  Rockies  under  the 
guidance  of  one  of  the  trappers,  named  Bill  Williams, —  of  a 
type  which  has  long  passed  out  of  existence, —  and  who  is  thus 
described:] 

Bill  Williams  was  the  most  successful  trapper  in  the 
mountains,  and  the  best  acquainted  with  the  ways  and  habits 
of  the  wild  tribes  among  and  near  whom  he  spent  his  adven- 
turous life.  He  first  came  to  the  West  as  a  sort  of  mission- 
ary to  the  Osages.  But  "  Old  Bill  "  laid  aside  his  Chris- 
tianity and  took  up  his  rifle  and  came  to  the  mountains 

isi 


152  The  Westward  Movement 

He  was  full  of  oddities  in  appearance,  manner,  conversation, 
and  actions.  He  generally  went  out  alone  into  the  moun- 
tains, and  would  remain  there  trapping  by  himself  for  sev- 
eral months  together,  his  lonely  camps  being  often  pitched 
in  the  vicinity  of  hostile  savages.  But  he  was  as  well 
versed  in  stratagem  as  they,  and  though  he  bore  the  marks 
of  balls  and  arrows,  he  was  a  terror  to  them  in  single  fight. 
He  was  a  dead  shot  with  a  rifle,  though  he  always  shot 
with  a  "  double  wabble  " ;  he  never  could  hold  his  gun  still, 
yet  his  ball  went  always  to  the  spot  on  a  single  shot 
Though  a  most  indefatigable  walker,  he  never  could  walk 
on  a  straight  line,  but  went  staggering  along,  first  on  one 
side  and  then  the  other.  He  was  an  expert  horseman; 
scarce  a  horse  or  mule  could  unseat  him.  He  rode  leaning 
forward  upon  the  pommel,  with  his  rifle  before  him,  his  stir- 
rups ridiculously  short,  and  his  breeches  rubbed  up  to  his 
knees,  leaving  his  legs  bare  even  in  freezing  cold  weather. 
He  wore  a.  loose  monkey-jacket  or  a  buckskin  hunting- 
shirt,  and  for  his  head-covering  a  blanket-cap,  the  two  top 
corners  drawn  up  into  two  wolfish,  satyr-like  ears,  giving 
him  somewhat  the  appearance  of  the  representations  we 
generally  meet  with  of  his  Satanic  Majesty,  at  the  same  time 
rendering  his  tout  ensemble  exceedingly  ludicrous.  He 
was  a  perfect  specimen  of  his  kind,  an  embodiment  of  the 
reckless  and  extravagant  propensity  of  the  mountaineers, 
and  he  pursued  his  lucrative  but  perilous  vocation  from  an 
innate  love  of  its  excitement  and  dangers.  For  twenty-one 
years  he  had  lived  in  the  mountains  without  returning  to 
civilized  life  until  he  was  taken  back  under  guard,  a  year 
or  two  previous,  by  Captain  Cook,  for  the  offense  of  ma- 
nceuvering  and  acting  the  Indian  in  his  buckskin  suit  on  the 
plains,  thereby  deceiving  the  captain  into  the  belief  that 


Rough  Times  in  Rough  Places        153 

he  was  an  Indian,  and  giving  his  men  a  fruitless  chase  of 
several  miles  over  the  prairies  before  they  could  overtake 
him  on  his  pony,  much  to  his  diversion  and  the  officer's 
chagrin. 

Such  was  old  Bill  Williams  —  he  who  was  destined  to 
be  our  guide  at  this  time.  But  it  was  not  without  some 
hesitation  that  he  consented  to  go,  for  most  of  the  old  trap- 
pers at  the  pueblo  declared  that  it  was  impossible  to  cross 
the  mountains  at  that  time ;  that  the  cold  upon  the  moun- 
tains was  unprecedented,  and  the  snow  deeper  than  they 
had  ever  known  it  so  early  in  the  year.  However,  Old  Bill 
concluded  to  go,  for  he  thought  we  could  manage  to  get 
through,  though  not  without  considerable  suffering. 

On  the  26th  of  November  [1848]  we  entered  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  which  had  been  for  days  looming  up  before  us, 
presenting  to  view  one  continuous  sheet  of  snow.  The 
snow  already  covered  the  mountains  and  was  rapidly  deep- 
ening. I  have  frequently  since  called  to  mind  the  expres- 
sion of  one  of  the  men  as  we  rode  along  before  entering 
Hard  Scrabble.  As  we  looked  upon  the  stormy  mountain 
so  portentous  of  the  future,  he  said,  "  Friends,  I  don't 
want  my  bones  to  bleach  upon  those  mountains."  Poor 
fellow,  little  did  he  dream  of  what  the  future  would  be! 

In  the  evening,  from  our  first  camp,  eight  miles  in  the 
mountains,  several  of  us  climbed  to  a  high  point  to  take  a 
last  look  at  the  plains.  The  sight  was  beautiful;  the  snow- 
covered  plain  far  beneath  us  stretching  eastward  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  while  on  the  opposite  side  frowned 
the  almost  perpendicular  wall  of  high  mountains. 

We  entered  the  mountains  on  foot,  packing  our  saddle- 
mules  with  corn  to  sustain  the  animals.  We  traveled  on, 
laboring  through  the  deep  snow  on  the  rugged  mountain 


154  The  Westward  Movement 

range,  passing  successively  through  what  are  called  White 
Mountain  Valley  and  Wet  Mountain  Valley  into  Grand 
River  Valley.  The  cold  was  intense,  and  storms  frequently 
compelled  us  to  lie  in  camp,  from  the  impossibility  of  for- 
cing the  mules  against  them.  A  number  of  the  men  were 
frozen;  the  animals  became  exhausted  from  the  inclemency 
of  the  weather  and  want  of  food,  what  little  grass  there 
was  being  all  buried  in  the  snow.  As  we  proceeded  mat- 
ters grew  worse  and  worse.  The  mules  gave  out  one  by 
one  and  dropped  down  in  the  trail,  and  their  packs  were 
placed  upon  the  saddle-mules.  The  cold  became  more  and 
more  intense,  so  many  degrees  below  zero  that  the  mercury 
sank  entirely  into  the  bulb.  The  breath  would  freeze  upon 
the  men's  faces  and  their  lips  become  so  stiff  from  the  ice 
that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  speak ;  the  long  beard  and 
hair  stood  out  white  and  stiff  with  the  frost.  The  aspect 
of  the  mules  was  as  bad  as  that  of  the  men ;  their  eyelashes 
and  the  long  beard  about  their  mouths  were  frozen  stiff, 
and  their  breath  settled  upon  their  breasts  and  sides  until 
they  were  perfectly  white  with  frost.  The  snow,  too> 
would  clog  under  their  hoofs  until  it  formed  a  ball  six 
inches  long,  making  them  appear  as  though  they  were  walk- 
ing on  stilts.  With  the  deep  snow  around  us,  and  the 
pendant  frost  upon  the  leafless  trees,  Nature  and  ourselves 
presented  a  very  harmonious  picture.  Two  trappers,  Old 
Bill  informed  us,  had  been  frozen  to  death  here  the  year 
previous. 

After  coming  through  Robideaux's  Pass,  which  was  ex- 
ceedingly difficult,  we  descended  into  Grand  River  Valley. 
The  snow  lay  deep,  as  elsewhere,  and  there  was  no  sign  of 
vegetation.  One  broad,  white,  dreary-looking  plain  lay 
before  us,  bounded  by  lofty  white  mountains.  The  Rio 


Rough  Times  in  Rough  Places         155 

Grande  lay  fifty  miles  ahead,  so  we  determined  to  get 
through  the  snow-covered  plain  as  quickly  as  possible.  We 
traveled  late  and  camped  in  the  middle  of  it,  without  any 
shelter  from  the  winds,  and  with  no  fuel  but  some  wild  sage, 
a  small  shrub  which  grew  sparsely  around.  At  night  the 
thermometer  stood  at  seventeen  degrees  below  zero.  Dur- 
ing the  day  Ducatel,  a  young  fellow  in  the  company,  had 
come  very  near  freezing  to  death.  By  collecting  a  quan- 
tity of  the  sage  we  made  sufficient  fire  to  cook,  or  rather 
half-cook,  our  supper  of  deer  meat,  five  deer  having  been 
killed  that  evening  by  two  of  the  men.  Bolting  down  the 
half -cooked  meat,  we  quickly  turned  into  our  blankets  in 
order  to  keep  tolerably  warm  and  to  protect  ourselves 
against  the  driving  snow,  for  since  leaving  the  States  we 
had  scarcely  stretched  our  tents.  In  the  night,  as  ill  luck 
would  have  it,  our  mules,  poor  creatures,  which  had  stood 
shivering  in  the  cold  with  bowed  backs  and  drooping  heads, 
suffering  from  their  exposed  situation  and  half-starved,  be- 
ing now  reduced  to  a  pint  of  corn  twice  a  day,  and  having 
no  other  resource  for  food,  broke  loose  from  their  weak 
fastenings  of  sage  bushes  and  started  off  en  masse  on  the 
back  trail.  As  soon  as  it  was  ascertained  that  they  were 
gone,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  we  had  to  rise  from  our 
beds,  lifting  half  a  foot  of  snow  with  our  top  blankets,  and 
strike  out  in  pursuit  of  them.  We  overtook  them  several 
miles  from  camp,  and,  taking  them  back,  made  them  secure. 
But  we  rested  little  the  remainder  of  the  night. 

The  next  day  we  reached  the  Rio  Grande  del  Norte. 
This  we  found  frozen  over,  and  we  camped  on  the  river 
bottom,  which  is  thickly  timbered  with  cottonwood  and  wil- 
low. Here  my  feet  and  those  of  several  others  were  frozen 
—  the  result  in  part  of  wearing  boots,  for  which  I  quickly 


156  The  Westward  Movement 

substituted  moccasins,  with  blanket  wrappers,  which  are 
much  warmer  than  socks,  and  which,  with  leggings  of  the 
same  material,  afford  the  best  protection  for  the  lower  ex- 
tremities against  severe  cold. 

Continuing  up  the  river  two  or  three  days,  we  again  en- 
tered the  mountains,  which  soon  assumed  a  very  rugged 
character.  Nature,  in  the  ascent  towards  the  Sierra  Madre, 
presents  herself  with  all  her  features  prominent  and  strongly 
marked,  her  figures  bold  and  colossal.  Our  progress  be- 
came slow  and  laborious.  Our  track  lay  through  deep 
mountain  gorges,  amid  towering  precipices  and  beetling 
crags,  and  along  steep  declivities  where  at  any  other  sea- 
son it  would  have  been  next  to  impossible  to  travel,  but 
where  now  the  deep  snow  afforded  a  secure  foothold.  In 
making  the  ascent  of  some  of  these  precipitous  mountain 
sides,  now  and  then  a  mule  would  lose  its  footing  and 
go  tumbling  and  rolling  many  feet  down.  My  saddle  mule 
took  one  of  these  tumbles.  Losing  her  foothold,  she  got 
her  rope  hitched  upon  a  large  log  which  lay  loosely  bal- 
anced on  the  rocks,  and,  knocking  me  down  and  jerking 
the  log  clear  over  my  head,  they  went  tumbling  down  to- 
gether. But  fortunately  no  one  was  hurt.  A  great  ob- 
stacle to  our  progress  were  the  rapid,  rough-bottomed,  but 
boggy  streams  which  we  had  frequently  to  encounter  in  the 
deep  and  narrow  ravines,  where  the  mules  would  get 
balked,  half  a  dozen  at  a  time,  with  their  packs  on.  Then 
we  had  to  wade  in  up  to  our  middle  among  the  floating  ice 
in  the  freezing  water  to  help  them  out. 

The  farther  we  went  the  more  obstacles  we  had  to  en- 
counter ;  difficulties  beset  us  so  thickly  on  every  hand  as  we 
advanced  that  they  threatened  to  thwart  our  expedition. 
The  snow  became  deeper  daily,  and  to  advance  was  but  add- 


Rough  Times  in  Rough  Places        157 

ing  dangers  to  difficulties.  About  one-third  of  the  men 
were  already  more  or  less  frost-bitten;  every  night  some  of 
the  mules  would  freeze  to  death,  and  every  day  as  many 
more  would  give  out  from  exhaustion  and  be  left  on  the 
trail.  .  .  .  Finally,  on  the  I7th  of  December,  after  fre- 
quent ineffectual  attempts,  we  found  that  we  could  force  our 
way  no  farther.  By  our  utmost  endeavors  with  mauls  and 
spades  we  could  make  but  half  a  mile  or  a  mile  per  day. 
The  cold  became  more  severe,  and  storms  constant,  so  that 
nothing  was  visible  at  times  through  the  thick  driving  snow. 
For  days  in  succession  we  would  labor  to  beat  a  trail  a  few 
hundred  yards  in  length,  but  the  next  day  the  storm  would 
leave  no  trace  of  the  previous  day's  work.  We  were  on 
the  St.  John  Mountain,  a  section  of  the  Sierra  Madre  and 
the  main  range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  proper.  At  an 
elevation  of  11,000  feet  the  cold  was  so  intense  and  the  at- 
mosphere so  rare  that  respiration  became  difficult ;  the  least 
exertion  became  laborious  and  fatiguing,  and  would  some- 
times cause  the  blood  to  start  from  lips  and  nose.  The 
mercury  in  the  thermometer  stood  20°  below  zero,  and  the 
snow  was  here  from  four  to  thirty  feet  deep.  When  we 
built  our  camp-fires  deep  pits  were  formed  by  the  melting 
of  the  snow,  completely  concealing  the  different  messes 
from  each  other.  Down  in  these  holes  we  slept,  spread- 
ing our  blankets  upon  the  snow,  every  morning  crawling 
out  from  under  a  deep  covering  of  snow  which  had  fallen 
upon  us  during  the  night.  The  strong  pine  smoke, —  for 
here  there  was  no  timber  but  pine, —  together  with  the  re- 
flection from  the  snow,  so  affected  our  sight  that  at  times 
we  could  scarcely  see.  The  snow  drifted  over  us  contin- 
ually, driven  about  by  the  violence  of  the  chill  blasts  which 
swept  over  the  mountains. 


158  The  Westward  Movement 

Besides  ourselves  and  our  mules,  no  vestige  of  animal 
life  appeared  here  in  this  lofty  and  dreary  solitude;  not 
even  the  ravens  uttered  their  hoarse  cry,  nor  the  wolves 
their  hollow  and  dismal  howl.  Finally  nearly  the  entire 
band  of  our  one  hundred  mules  had  frozen  to  death.  After 
remaining  in  this  condition  for  five  days  without  being 
able  to  move  camp,  the  colonel  [Fremont]  determined  to 
return  as  quickly  as  possible  by  a  different  course  to  the 
Rio  Grande.  There  we  had  left  game  upon  which  we 
could  subsist  until  a  party,  to  be  previously  despatched, 
should  return  with  relief.  So  on  the  22d  of  December  we 
commenced  our  move,  crossing  over  the  bleak  mountain 
strewn  with  the  frozen  mules,  and  packing  our  baggage  with 
us.  We  were  more  than  a  week  moving  our  camp  and 
equipage  over  the  top  of  this  mountain,  a  distance  of  two 
miles  from  our  first  camp.  The  day  we  began  to  move 
(our  provisions  having  been  all  consumed,  except  a  small 
portion  of  macaroni  and  sugar,  reserved  against  hard 
times),  we  commenced  to  eat  t.he  carcasses  of  the  frozen 
mules.  It  was  hoped  we  might  save  the  few  that  yet  lived, 
but  this  proving  impossible,  we  began  to  kill  and  eat  the 
surviving  ones.  On  Christmas  Day  the  colonel  despatched 
a  party  of  four  men,  King,  Croitzfeldt,  Brackenridge,  and 
Bill  Williams,  to  proceed  down  the  Rio  del  Norte  with  all 
possible  speed  to  Albuquerque,  where  they  were  to  procure 
provisions  and  mules  to  relieve  us.  He  allowed  them  six- 
teen days  to  go  and  return.  We  made  our  Christmas  and 
New  Year's  dinner  on  mule  meat, —  not  the  fattest,  as  may 
be  judged, —  and  continued  to  feed  upon  it  while  it  was 
within  reach.  ...  At  last  we  reached  the  rirer,  but 
we  found  no  game ;  the  deer  and  elk  had  been  driven  off 
by  the  deep  snow.  For  days  we  had  been  anxiously  looking 


Rough  Times  in  Rough  Places        159 

for  the  return  of  King's  party  with  relief.  The  time  al- 
lotted him  had  already  expired;  day  after  day  passed,  but 
with  no  prospect  of  relief.  We  concluded  that  the  party 
had  been  attacked  by  Indians,  or  that  they  had  lost  their 
way  and  had  perished.  The  colonel,  who  had  moved  clown 
to  the  river  before  us,  waited  two  days  longer,  and  then, 
taking  just  enough  provision  before  it  was  all  ex- 
hausted to  last  them  along  the  river,  himself  started  off 
with  Mr.  Preuss,  Godey,  Theodore  (Godey's  nephew),  and 
Sanders,  the  colonel's  servant-man,  intending  to  find  out 
what  had  become  of  the  party  and  hasten  them  back,  or,  if 
our  fears  concerning  them  proved  true,  to  push  on  himself 
to  the  nearest  settlement  and  send  relief.  He  left  an  order, 
which  we  scarcely  knew  how  to  interpret,  to  the  effect  that 
we  must  finish  packing  the  baggage  to  the  river,  and  hasten 
on  down  as  speedily  as  possible  to  the  mouth  of  Rabbit 
River  where  we  would  meet  relief,  and  that  if  we  wished 
to  see  him  again  we  must  be  in  a  hurry  about  it,  as  he  was 
going  on  to  California. 

Two  days  after  the  colonel  left  we  had  all  assembled  on 
the  river.  The  last  of  our  provisions  had  been  consumed, 
and  we  had  been  living  for  several  days  upon  parfleche. 
Our  condition  was  perilous  in  the  extreme.  Starvation 
stared  us  in  the  face;  to  remain  there  longer  was  certain 
death.  We  held  a  consultation  and  determined  to  start 
down  the  river  the  next  day  and  try  to  make  our  way  to 
some  settlement  where  we  could  get  relief;  in  the  mean 
time  keeping  as  much  together  as  possible,  and  hunting 
along  as  we  went  as  our  only  chance  of  safety. 

Now  commenced  a  train  of  horrors  which  it  is  painful  to 
force  the  mind  to  dwell  upon,  and  which  the  memory 
shrinks  from.  Before  we  had  proceeded  far  Manuel,  a 


160  The  Westward  Movement 

California  Indian  of  the  Cosumne  tribe,  who  had  his  feet 
badly  frozen,  stopped  and  begged  Mr.  Vincent  Haler  to 
shoot  him,  and  failing  to  meet  death  in  this  way  turned 
back  to  the  lodge  at  the  camp  we  had  left,  there  to  await  his 
fate.  The  same  day  Wise  lay  down  on  the  ice  and  died; 
and  the  Indian  boys,  Joaquin  and  Gregorio,  who  came 
along  afterward,  having  stopped  back  to  get  some  wood 
for  Manuel,  seeing  his  body,  covered  it  over  with  brush  and 
snow.  That  night  Carver,  crazed  by  hunger,  raved  terribly 
all  night,  so  that  some  in  the  camp  with  him  became  alarmed 
for  their  safety.  He  told  them,  if  any  would  follow  him 
back,  he  had  a  plan  by  which  they  might  live.  The  next 
day  he  wandered  off  and  we  never  saw  him  again.  The 
next  night  Sorel,  his  system  wrought  upon  by  hunger,  cold, 
and  exhaustion,  took  a  violent  fit  which  lasted  for  some 
time,  and  to  which  succeeded  an  entire  prostration  of  all 
his  faculties.  At  the  same  time  he  was  almost  totally 
snow-blind.  Poor  fellow,  the  next  day  he  traveled  as  long 
as  his  strength  would  allow,  and  then,  telling  us  we  would 
have  to  leave  him,  that  he  could  go  no  farther,  blind  with 
snow  he  lay  down  on  the  river-bank  to  die.  Moran  sooii 
joined  him,  and  they  never  came  up  again.  Late  at  night, 
arriving  one  by  one,  we  all  came  into  a  camp  together  on 
the  river-bank.  Gloom  and  despondency  were  depicted  on 
every  face.  Our  condition  had  become  perfectly  desper- 
ate. We  knew  not  what  to  do;  the  candles  and  parfleche 
had  kept  us  alive  thus  far,  but  these  were  gone.  Our  ap- 
pearance was  most  desolate  as  we  sat  in  silence  around  the 
fires,  in  view  of  a  fast  approaching  death  by  starvation, 
while  hunger  gnawed  upon  our  vitals.  Then  Vincent  Ha- 
ler, to  whom  the  colonel  had  left  the  charge  of  the  camp, 
and  whom  for  that  reason  we  had  allowed  to  have  the  chief 


Rough  Times  in  Rough  Places        161 

direction,  spoke  up  and  told  us  that  he  then  and  there  threw 
up  all  authority;  that  he  could  do  nothing,  and  knew  not 
what  to  advise ;  that  he  looked  upon  our  condition  as  hope- 
less, but  he  would  suggest,  as  the  best  advice  he  could  give, 
that  we  break  up  into  small  parties,  and,  hunting  along, 
make  the  best  of  our  way  down  separately,  each  party 
making  use  of  all  the  advantages  that  might  fall  in  its  way, 
so  that  if  any  should  chance  to  get  through  to  a  settlement 
they  could  forward  relief  to  the  others.  ...  It  was 
curious  to  hear  different  men  tell  of  the  workings  of  the 
mind  when  they  were  starving.  Some  were  constantly 
dreaming  or  imagining  that  they  saw  before  them  a  bounti- 
ful feast,  and  would  make  selections  of  different  dishes. 
Others  engaged  their  minds  with  other  thoughts.  For  my 
part,  I  kept  my  mind  amused  by  entering  continually  into 
all  the  minutiae  of  farming,  or  of  some  other  systematic 
business  which  would  keep  up  a  train  of  thought,  or  by 
working  a  mental  solution  of  mathematical  problems,  bring- 
ing in  review  the  rudiments  of  some  science,  or  by  laying 
out  plans  for  the  future,  all  having  a  connection  with  home 
and  after  life.  So  in  this  way  never  allowing  myself  to 
think  upon  the  hopelessness  of  our  condition,  yet  always 
keeping  my  eyes  open  to  every  chance,  I  kept  hope  alive 
and  never  once  suffered  myself  to  despond.  And  to  this 
course  I  greatly  attribute  my  support,  for  there  were 
stronger  men  who,  by  worrying  themselves,  doubtless  has- 
tened their  death.  Ten  out  of  our  party  of  thirty-three 
that  entered  the  mountains  had  perished,  and  a  few  days 
more  would  have  finished  the  others. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  February  9,  cold,  hungry,  and 
weary,  with  no  little  joy  we  all  at  once  hailed  the  sight  of 
the  little  Pueblo  of  the  Colorado.  We  raised  a  yell  as  we 


162  The  Westward  Movement 

came  in  sight  which  made  the  Pueblanos  stand  out  and  gaze. 
In  a  few  minutes,  with  their  assistance,  we  struggled  for- 
ward with  them  and  sought  the  comfort  which  the  place 
afforded. 

In  sight  of  Taos,  and  several  miles  to  the  southeast,  at 
the  mouth  of  a  deep  gorge  or  canon  by  which  the  Taos 
River  debouches  from  the  mountains,  is  a  walled  town  or 
pueblo,  one  of  a  great  many  of  the  same  kind  in  this  coun- 
try, inhabited  by  the  Pueblos  or  civilized  Indians,  a  rem- 
nant of  the  race  of  Montezuma.  They  live  in  houses  built 
of  stone  and  earth,  or  of  adobe,  most  of  which  at  this  place 
were  three  or  four  stories  high,  and  some  of  which  even 
attained  the  height  of  eleven  stories,  each  story  receding  a 
few  feet  back  from  the  front  of  the  one  below  it,  and 
each  one  reached  by  a  ladder  placed  against  the  wall,  com- 
municating with  the  door  on  top,  and  capable  of  being  let 
down  or  drawn  up  at  pleasure.  A  high  mud  wall  incloses 
the  buildings,  which  front  towards  the  center,  and  in  the 
middle  is  a  lofty  church  of  the  same  material  as  the  other 
buildings,  with  walls  six  feet  thick. 

At  Taos  we  first  heard  with  certainty  of  the  abundance 
of  gold  in  California,  the  first  account  of  which  had  reached 
the  States  immediately  before  our  departure,  but  was 
scarcely  believed. 

On  the  I3th  of  February,  having  laid  in  a  supply  of  pro- 
visions from  the  quartermaster's  department,  being  facili- 
tated by  the  generous  kindness  of  the  army  officers,  and 
having  hired  muleteers  and  a  train  of  mules  to  take  us  down 
to  Albuquerque,  we  set  out  for  Santa  Fe. 


KIT  CARSON,  LAST  OF  THE  TRAIL-MAKERS 
BY  CHARLES  M.  HARVEY 

In  his  various  activities,  Carson  played  many  parts,  in- 
cluding those  of  hunter,  ranchman,  and  miner. 

As  historians  and  writers  of  Western  romance  picture 
him,  Kit  Carson  was  solely  an  Indian-fighter  and  scout. 
Frontier  exigencies,  indeed,  compelled  him  to  be  these,  but 
he  was  much  more.  He  was  a  sagacious  civic  chieftain 
as  well  as  intrepid  leader  in  war,  Indian,  foreign  and  civil ; 
a  wise  counselor  of  red  men  and  white ;  a  man  who  touched 
the  West's  wild  life  at  more  points  than  any  other  person 
of  any  day;  a  man  who  blazed  trails  on  which  great  com- 
monwealths were  afterward  built,  and  who  helped  to  build 
some  of  them. 

Born  in  Kentucky  ten  months  later  than  Lincoln,  and 
seventy-five  miles  east  of  Lincoln's  birthplace,  Kit  Car- 
son, at  an  early  age,  was  carried  to  Missouri  by  his  parents. 
He  received  little  school  education,  but  learned  to  ride,  to 
handle  a  rifle,  and  to  trap  bear  and  beaver  on  that  border- 
line of  civilization.  He  was  set  to  work  at  a  trade  which 
had  no  attractions  for  him;  and  his  imagination  was  fired 
by  the  tales  of  the  strange  and  stirring  scenes  and  deeds  i.i 
the  vast  expanse  off  toward  the  sunset  that  came  to  him 
through  passing  hunters  and  traders.  The  Missouri  In- 
telligencer, a  weekly  newspaper  published  in  Franklin,  on 
the  Missouri  River,  in  its  issue  of  October  12,  1826,  tells 
the  sequel : 

163 


164  The  Westward  Movement 

Notice  is  hereby  given  to  all  persons  that  Christopher  Carson,  a 
boy  about  sixteen  years  old,  small  for  his  age,  but  thick-set,  with 
light  hair,  ran  away  from  the  subscriber,  living  in  Franklin, 
Howard  County,  Missouri,  to  whom  he  had  been  bound  to  learn 
the  saddler's  trade,  on  or  about  the  ist  of  September  last.  He  is 
supposed  to  have  made  his  way  to  the  upper  part  of  the  state. 
All  persons  are  notified  not  to  harbor,  support,  or  assist  said  boy, 
under  penalty  of  the  law.  One  cent  reward  will  be  given  to  any 
person  who  will  bring  back  the  said  boy. 

DAVID  WORKMAN. 

Six  years  earlier  than  this,  on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri, 
and  a  hundred  miles  east  of  Franklin,  died  Daniel  Boone. 
In  the  retrospect,  Carson's  name  naturally  associates  it- 
self with  Boone's.  On  a  broader  field,  in  the  face  of  ob- 
stacles and  perils  equally  formidable,  with  a  greater  variety 
of  resources,  and  with  a  far  readier  adaptability  to  rapidly 
changing  conditions,  Carson  continued  the  role  of  empire- 
builder  which  Boone  had  begun. 

In  1826,  the  only  States  west  of  the  Mississippi  were 
Missouri  and  Louisiana,  and  these,  with  the  Territory  of 
Arkansas,  contained  not  much  more  than  a  third  as  many 
inhabitants  as  a  single  city  of  that  region,  St.  Louis,  has  in 
1910.  Our  present  Texas,  New  Mexico,  Arizona,  Utah, 
Nevada  and  California,  with  parts  of  Colorado  and  Wy- 
oming, belonged  to  Mexico,  and,  with  Mexico,  had  just 
broken  away  from  Spain.  Oregon,  Washington  and 
Idaho,  with  large  portions  of  Wyoming  and  Montana,  were 
in  controversy  between  the  United  States  and  England,  and 
were  to  remain  in  that  condition  for  twenty  years  longer. 
West  and  southwest  of  the  Missouri,  and  on  its  upper  waters 
for  hundreds  of  miles  east  of  that  river,  roamed  some  of 
the  most  warlike  and  powerful  Indian  tribes  of  Nortli 
America.  Except  that,  in  the  interval,  the  capital  of  the 


Kit  Carson,  Last  of  the  Trail-Makers     165 


Kit  Carson. 


southwest  territory  had  swung 
from  Madrid,  Spain,  to  Mexico, 
no  perceptible  change  had  taken 
place  on  the  western  frontier 
since  the  days,  twenty  years 
earlier,  when  Lewis  and  Clark 
explored  the  region  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Missouri  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia;  or 
since  Captain  Zebulon  M.  Pike, 
seeking  the  sources  of  the  Red 
River,  entered  Spanish  ter- 
ritory unawares,  in  the  southern 
part  of  the  present  Colorado, 
and  was  carried  a  prisoner 
before  Charles  IV's  governor-general  at  Santa  Fe.  In  no 
age  or  land  did  adventure  ever  offer  a  more  attractive  field 
to  daring  and  enterprise  than  that  which  spread  itself  out 
before  young  Carson  at  the  moment  when,  fleeing  from  the 
little  saddler's  shop,  he  plunged  into  the  current  of  the 
stirring  life  off  to  the  westward. 

First  as  a  teamster  on  the  Santa  Fe  Trail,  of  which 
Franklin  was  then  the  eastern  terminus,  then  as  a  worker 
at  the  copper  mines  on  the  Gila,  and  afterward  as  a  hunter, 
trapper,  and  guide  across  the  West's  wide  spaces,  Carson 
traversed  a  large  part  of  the  region  from  the  Missouri  to 
the  Sacramento,  from  the  Gulf  of  California  to  the  upper 
reaches  of  the  Columbia,  and,  as  exigencies  demanded,  alter- 
nately fighting,  fleeing  from,  or  affiliating  with  Comanches, 
Apaches,  Sioux,  Pawnees,  and  Black  feet.  Thus  he  was 
thrown  into  active  association  with  St.  Vrain,  the  Bents, 
Ewing  Young,  Fitzpatrick,  Bill  Williams,  Jim  Bridger,  the 


166  The  Westward  Movement 

Sublettes,  and  other  well-known  plainsmen  and  mountain- 
eers of  the  middle  third  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
won  a  reputation  for  initiative,  versatility,  and  daring 
which  made  him  a  marked  figure  among  the  frontier  lead- 
ers of  his  day.  Moreover,  in  the  midst  of  his  exciting  ac- 
tivities he  found  time  to  marry,  to  establish  a  home,  and 
to  practise  the  civic  virtues  which,  refusing  to  lend  them- 
selves to  picturesque  treatment,  have  eluded  the  writers  of 
romance. 

At  this  time,  May,  1842,  Lieutenant  John  C.  Fremont,  on 
his  way  up  the  Mississippi  with  the  first  of  his  exploration 
parties,  fell  in  with  Carson  and  induced  him  to  enter  the 
government  service  as  the  official  guide  of  the  expedition. 
He  afterward  wrote : 

On  the  boat  I  met  Kit  Carson.  He  was  returning  from  putting 
his  little  daughter  in  a  convent  school  in  St.  Louis.  I  was  pleased 
with  him  and  his  manner  of  address  at  this  first  meeting.  He  was 
a  man  of  medium  height,  broad-shouldered  and  deep-chested,  with 
a  clear,  steady  blue  eye  and  frank  speech  and  manner  —  quiet  and 
unassuming. 

Carson,  then  a  little  less  than  thirty-three  years  of  age, 
was  already  a  national  character.  The  association  which 
began  at  that  time  lasted  to  the  end  of  the  Mexican  War. 

Washington,  a  city  which  saw  many  strange  spectacles, 
had  a  novel  sight  on  the  June  day  of  1847  when  Kit  Carson 
entered  it  with  letters  from  Fremont.  In  various  phrase, 
this  is  the  substance  of  what  the  newspapers  of  Wrashing- 
ton,  New  York,  and  Boston  said:  Here  is  the  man  who 
has  blazed  paths  for  the  Pathfinder  from  the  mouth  of  the 
Missouri  to  the  Golden  Gate;  who,  in  1846,  guided  Gen- 
eral Stephen  W.  Kearny's  column  of  the  Army  of  the  West 


Kit  Carson,  Last  of  the  Trail-Makers     167 

through  New  Mexico  to  the  Pacific ;  who,  when  Kearny  was 
surrounded  and  besieged  by  the  Mexicans,  brought  Commo- 
dore Stockton's  forces  to  the  rescue ;  and  who  has  just  rid- 
den from  Los  Angeles,  nearly  4,000  miles,  with  a  military 
escort  for  the  first  1200  miles  of  the  way,  eluding  or  fight- 
ing Mexicans  and  Indians,  as  circumstances  dictated,  carry- 
ing to  President  Polk  and  to  War  Secretary  Marcy  the 
story  of  the  conquest  of  California  and  of  the  raising  of  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  along  the  Pacific  coast. 

A  little  knowledge  of  history,  coupled  with  even  a  smaller 
amount  of  historical  imagination,  will  enable  us  to  picture 
the  sensation  which  Carson  and  his  story  caused  at  the 
Capital.  Polk,  Webster,  Clay,  and  the  other  statesmen 
who  met  him  were  impressed  with  his  quiet  dignity,  his 
candor  and  the  absence  of  swagger  in  his  demeanor.  No 
longer  could  Congress  listen  with  the  old-time  seriousness 
to  the  tales  of  the  alleged  Sahara  barrenness  of  the  western 
plains,  for  Fremont's  story,  just  published  in  its  first  in- 
stalment, told  of  streams,  of  occasional  tracts  of  timber, 
and  of  vast  herds  of  buffalo.  And  here  in  Washington 
was  the  man  who  had  piloted  Fremont  on  his  expeditions. 
From  this  time  dates  the  decline  of  the  myth  of  the  Great 
American  Desert,  which  the  reports  of  Pike  and  of  Long 
and  Irving's  chronicle  of  the  overland  march  of  the  Astori- 
ans  projected  across  the  map  of  the  second  quarter  of  the 
nineteenth  century  from  the  western  border  of  Missouri  to 
the  Sierra  Nevada.  With  their  imperialist  notions,  Sena- 
tors Benton,  Cass,  and  Douglas  saw  in  Carson  the  advance 
courier  of  manifest  destiny. 

With  the  modesty  which  was  one  of  his  characteristics, 
Carson  declined  to  accept  himself  at  the  appraisement 
which  Washington  gave  him.  As  he  viewed  them,  his 


i68  The  Westward  Movement 

achievements  were  merely  part  of  his  day's  work,  for  the 
performance  of  which  he  deserved  no  special  credit.  Ac- 
cordingly he  left  the  Capital  gladly  with  the  despatches 
which  Polk  gave  him  for  the  military  commander  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  then,  after  another  journey  back  to  Washing- 
ton, he  returned,  in  1848,  to  Taos,  and  resumed  the 
life  of  a  ranchman,  which  had  been  interrupted  six  years 
earlier. 

Once  more  now,  in  Carson's  case,  we  see  the  initiative, 
the  versatility,  and  the  resourcefulness  which  the  frontier 
conditions  of  the  older  day  demanded.  In  their  widely 
different  fields,  Crockett,  Sam  Houston,  and  Lincoln  dis- 
closed these  qualities.  Appointed  in  1853  Indian  agent 
for  the  district  of  New  Mexico  and  vicinity  by  President 
Pierce, —  a  post  which  he  held  till  his  death,  except  for  the 
interlude  of  the  Civil  War,  in  which  he  rose  to  the  rank  of 
a  brigadier-general, —  he  entered  a  sphere  in  which  he 
gained  a  new  distinction.  The  most  formidable  Indian- 
fighter  of  his  age,  he  was  equally  successful  as  a  counselor 
and  conciliator  of  Indians.  His  administration  stands 
guiltless  of  any  complicity  in  the  "  century  of  dishonor." 

As  a  peacemaker  between  red  men  and  white  and  be- 
tween red  men  and  red,  Carson  was  more  effective  than  a 
regiment  of  cavalry.  This  was  because  he  knew  the  In- 
dian's nature,  talked  his  tongue,  took  pains  to  learn  his  spe- 
cific grievances,  and  could  look  at  things  from  his  point  of 
view.  The  Indian  had  confidence  in  Carson  in  a  larger  de- 
gree than  in  any  other  agent  of  the  older  day  except  General 
William  Clark,  Lewis's  old  partner  in  the  exploration  of 
1804-06,  who,  from  Monroe's  days  in  the  Presidency  to 
Van  Buren's,  was  superintendent  of  Indian  affairs,  with 
headquarters  at  St.  Louis.  Except  Clark,  he  was  more 


Kit  Carson,  Last  of  the  Trail-Makers     169 

active  in  treaty-making  between  the  Government  and  the 
red  man  than  any  other  agent  down  to  his  time. 

Socially  as  well  as  physically  Carson  was  a  path-blazer. 
With  the  Dawes  severalty  act  of  1887  began  a  revolution 
in  our  methods  of  dealing  with  the  red  men.  Many  years 
before  that  statute  was  dreamed  of,  Carson  recommended 
that  the  Indians  be  taught  to  cultivate  the  soil,  that  allot- 
ments of  land  be  given  to  them  as  they  become  capable  of 
using  them,  that  they  be  trained  to  become  self-supporting, 
and  that  they  be  prepared  to  merge  themselves  into  the  mass 
of  the  country's  citizenship.  In  a  crude  and  general  way 
our  Indian  policy  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  has  pro- 
ceeded along  these  lines. 

More  than  any  other  Indian  agent  of  his  day  or  earlier, 
Carson  exerted  influence  with  the  national  authorities  to 
induce  them  to  listen  to  the  appeals  of  the  country's  wards, 
to  remove  their  grievances,  as  far  as  practicable,  to  deal 
with  them  as  individuals,  and  to  arouse  in  them  an  ambition 
to  rise  to  the  industrial  status  of  their  white  neighbors. 

Although  more  than  forty-two  years  have  passed  since 
Carson's  death  many  of  his  acquaintances  are  still  living  in 
various  parts  of  the  West.  In  talks  which  I  have  had 
with  some  of  them  in  the  past  year  or  two  they  revealed 
him  on  a  side  which  the  historical  and  fiction  writers  never 
disclosed.  As  a  youth  on  the  plains  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
him  in  the  last  year  of  his  life,  and  as  he  had  always  been 
a  hero  to  me  as  a  boy  beyond  any  other  frontier  character, 
I  was  surprised  at  the  absence  in  his  appearance  of  every- 
thing traditionally  associated  with  the  aspect  of  an  Indian 
fighter.  Although  he  was  still  alert  and  resolute,  his  face 
had  the  kindly  look  which  reminded  me  of  Father  De  Smet, 
the  head  of  the  mission  among  the  Flatheads  on  the  Bitter 


170  The  Westward  Movement 

Root  River,  in  Montana,  whom  I  had  met  shortly  before 
that  time. 

"  One  of  my  most  vivid  recollections  of  Carson,"  says 
Major  Rafael  Chacon,  of  Trinidad,  Colorado,  who  was  an 
officer  in  his  company  of  scouts  in  the  campaign  of  1855 
against  the  Utes  and  Apaches,  and  who  was  a  captain  and 
later  on  a  major  in  the  First  Regiment  of  New  Mexican 
Volunteers  in  the  Civil  War,  of  which  Carson  was  the  colo- 
nel, "  was  of  one  day  in  1862  in  Albuquerque,  when  I  saw 
him  lying  on  an  Indian  blanket  in  front  of  his  quarters, 
with  his  children  gleefully  crawling  all  over  him  and  taking 
from  his  pockets  the  candy  and  the  lumps  of  sugar  which  he 
had  purchased  for  them.  Their  mother,  his  second  wife, 
Dona  Josefa  Jaamillo,  to  whom  he  was  ardently  devoted, 
he  called  by  the  pet  name  of  Chipita." 

Jacob  Beard,  eighty-two  years  of  age,  of  Monrovia,  Cal- 
ifornia, who  became  acquainted  with  Carson  at  Taos  in 
1847,  savs  one  °f  m*s  most  pleasant  memories  is  of  the  day 
in  1852  when,  while  working  on  a  ranch  near  San  Fran- 
cisco, he  met  Carson,  who  had  just  reached  that  city  with 
a  great  drove  of  sheep  which  he  and  a  few  men  had  con- 
ducted from  New  Mexico,  nearly  a  thousand  miles  over 
deserts,  across  swift  and  dangerous  rivers,  and  through  wild 
mountain  passes,  a  large  part  of  the  course  being  infested 
by  Indians.  "  Kit,  on  seeing  you  I  feel  homesick,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  and  I  think  I  ought  to  go  back  with  you."  Car- 
son became  sympathetic  at  once,  and  said :  "  Well,  Jake, 
we  have  only  one  life  to  live,  and  in  living  it  we  should 
make  the  most  of  our  opportunities."  Beard  added,  in  tell- 
ing this  to  me :  "  That  settled  the  matter.  I  returned 
to  the  ranch,  adjusted  my  affairs  there,  saddled  my  mule, 


Kit  Carson,  Last  of  the  Trail-Makers     171 

caught  up  with  Carson's  party,  went  back  to  New  Mexico, 
and  lived  there  for  many  years  afterward." 

Daniel  L.  Taylor,  mayor  of  Trinidad,  Colorado,  who 
probably  stood  closer  to  Carson  during  the  later  years  of 
his  life  than  any  other  man  now  living,  related  recently  to 
me  an  incident  showing  his  dislike  of  anything  which  sa- 
vored of  flattery.  One  day  in  1862  the  great  frontiersman 
chanced  to  stop  at  Maxwell's  ranch,  on  the  Cimmaron 
River,  in  New  Mexico,  a  well-known  point  on  the  Santa 
Fe  trail,  when  a  regular  army  officer  of  high  rank  who  was 
there  exclaimed,  exuberantly :  "  So  this  is  the  distinguished 
Kit  Carson  who  has  made  so  many  Indians  run."  Carson 
silenced  his  eulogist  by  quietly  remarking:  "Yes,  I  made 
some  Indians  run,  but  much  of  the  time  they  were  running 
after  me." 

For  his  honesty  and  courage  in  exposing  an  official  who 
was  defrauding  the  Government  in  1864-65  he  was  removed 
by  one  of  his  political  superiors  from  the  command  at  Fort 
Union  to  Fort  Garland,  in  Colorado,  but  he  never  com- 
plained, and  the  cause  of  the  removal,  which  was  eminently 
creditable  to  him,  was  divulged  by  others,  and  not  by  him- 
self. 

"  In  Kit  Carson  Park,  which  I  have  given  to  the  city  of 
Trinidad,"  said  Mayor  Taylor  to  me,  "  we  shall  soon  erect 
a  monument  to  Carson,  and  we  shall  try  to  make  the  affair 
interesting  to  the  entire  West.  In  many  ways  he  was  the 
most  wonderful  man  that  I  ever  knew." 

Even  to  his  old  neighbors  and  associates  Carson  was  a 
hero  during  his  lifetime.  Merit  meets  no  severer  test  than 
this. 

An  old  friend  of  Carson's  told  me  that  his  dying  excla- 


172  The  Westward  Movement 

mation  to  the  physician  who  was  with  him,  was  "Doctor, 
compadre,  adios"  The  date  was  May  23,  1868.  As  this 
last  of  the  great  trail-makers  was  dying,  the  Union  Pacific, 
pushing  westward,  and  the  Central  Pacific,  moving  east- 
ward, were  about  to  meet  at  Promontory,  Utah,  and  the 
continent  was  crossed  by  rail.  The  heroic  age  of  western 
expansion  had  closed. 


THE  MACMONNIES  PIONEER  MONUMENT  FOR 

DENVER 

AN  EMBODIMENT  OF  THE  WESTERN  SPIRIT 

See  Frontispiece. 

The  pioneer  monument  of  which  the  equestrian  statue 
of  Kit  Carson  is  the  crowning  figure  consists  of  a  granite 
shaft  decorated  with  buffalo  skulls  and  oak  garlands,  rising 
from  basins  decorated  with  bronze  sculpture  groups  typify- 
ing the  prospector,  the  hunter  and  the  pioneer  mother  and 
child.  The  fountain,  the  ground-plan  of  which  is  hexago- 
nal, will  be  raised  on  five  granite  steps.  Water  will  spout 
into  basins  from  mountain-lion  and  trout  heads.  At  the 
base,  the  shaft  will  be  decorated  with  the  arms  of  Denver, 
and  horns  of  plenty  overflowing  with  fruit,  grain,  corn  and 
gold  and  silver  money  —  all  being  the  produce  of  Colo- 
rado. 

In  developing  the  main  motive  of  the  monument,  which 
seeks  to  express  the  expansive  character  of  the  West  and 
its  people,  the  sculptor  has  sought  to  reconcile  sculpturesque 
quality  and  decorative  style  with  the  portrayal  of  types  of 
character,  without  the  loss  of  local  definition.  He  has 
sought  dignity  by  avoiding  momentary,  story-telling  situa- 
tions, and  in  the  portrayal  of  character  rather  than  episode, 
has  endeavored  to  condense  all  that  is  most  broadly  typical 
of  the  West. 

In  the  prospector  he  has  sought  to  express  something 
of  the  philosophy  of  the  miner  who  alone,  in  the  solitude 
of  the  desert,  is  sustained  by  constant  hope,  and  a  prophetic 

173 


174  The  Westward  Movement 

vision  which  recognizes  great  possibilities  in  the  smallest 
indications.  In  the  hunter  he  has  tried  to  suggest  some- 
thing of  the  roving  life  of  the  pioneer  living  among  primi- 
tive conditions,  daily  menaced  by  death,  either  from  star- 
vation or  from  treacherous  enemies,  and  who  is  only 
saved  from  destruction  by  constant  vigilance  and  superior 
woodcraft.  In  the  group  of  the  mother  and  child,  he  has 
endeavored  to  reflect  the  high  qualities  of  courage  and 
resourcefulness  of  the  pioneer  woman,  always  ready  to 
meet  danger  in  the  defense  of  her  child  and  her  home. 

In  the  equestrian  statue  of  Kit  Carson,  the  sculptor's  aim 
was  to  sum  up  the  sentiment  of  the  whole  western  move- 
ment, "  The  Call  of  the  West  "— "  Westward  Ho." 

The  costumes  are  from  actual  objects,  including  a  coat 
worn  by  Carson,  now  owned  by  Mr.  John  S.  Hough,  of 
Lake  City,  Colorado.  Suggestions  for  the  head  of  the 
mounted  scout  were  taken  from  his  early  portraits ;  for  the 
hunter,  from  Jim  Baker,  an  old  scout  of  Colorado;  while 
the  head  of  the  prospector  was  studied  from  portraits  of 
prominent  Colorado  pioneers. 


THE  DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD  IN  CALIFORNIA 
BY  JOHN  S.  HITTELL 

In  the  summer  of  1847  the  American  residents  of  Cali- 
fornia, numbering  perhaps  two  thousand,  and  mostly  estab- 
lished near  San  Francisco  Bay,  looked  forward  with  hope 
and  confidence  to  the  future.  Their  government  held  se- 
cure possession  of  the  whole  territory,  and  had  announced 
its  purpose  to  hold  it  permanently.  The  Spanish  Cali- 
fornians,  dissatisfied  with  the  manner  in  which  Mexico  had 
ruled  them,  and  convinced  that  she  could  not  protect  them, 
had  abandoned  the  idea  of  further  resistance.  Notwith- 
standing the  unsettled  condition  of  political  affairs,  the 
market  prices  of  cows,  horses  and  land,  which  at  that  time 
were  the  chief  articles  of  sale  in  the  country,  had  advanced, 
and  this  enhancement  of  values  was  generally  regarded  as 
a  certain  proof  of  the  increased  prosperity  that  would  bless 
the  country  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes  when  peace,  which 
seemed  near  at  hand,  should  be  finally  made. 

It  so  happened  that  at  this  time  one  of  the  leading  rep- 
resentatives of  American  interests  in  California  was  John 
A.  Sutter,  a  Swiss  by  his  parentage ;  a  German  by  the  place 
of  his  birth  in  Baden ;  an  American  by  residence  and  natu- 
ralization in  Missouri ;  and  a  Mexican  by  subsequent  resi- 
dence and  naturalization  in  California.  In  1839  ne  nad  set- 
tled at  the  junction  of  the  Sacramento  and  American  Riv- 
ers, near  the  site  of  the  present  city  of  Sacramento. 

When  he  selected  this  site  it  was  generally  considered 

175 


176  The  Westward  Movement 

very  undesirable,  but  it  had  advantages  which  soon  became 
apparent.  It  was  the  head  of  navigation  on  the  Sacramento 
River  for  sailing  vessels,  and  steam  had  not  yet  made  its 
appearance  in  the  waters  of  the  Pacific.  It  had  a  central 
position  in  the  great  interior  valley. 
Its  distance  of  sixty  miles  from  the 
nearest  village,  and  its  situation  on 
one  of  the  main  traveled  routes  of  the 
territory,  gave  political  and  military 
importance  to  its  proprietor.  The 
Mexican  governors  sought  his  in- 
fluence and  conferred  power  on  him. 
But  more  important  than  all  these 
advantages  was  the  fact  that  the  only 

The  most  approved  Cal-    waS°n  road  from  the  Mississippi  Val- 

ifornia  outfit    (from  ley   to    California    first    reached    the 

navigable    waters   of   the    Pacific    at 

Sutter's  Fort.  This  road  had  been  open  for  several  years 
and  was  of  much  prospective  importance.  The  immigra- 
tion had  been  interrupted  by  the  war,  but  would  certainly 
start  again  as  soon  as  peace  should  be  restored. 

The  American  residents  of  California,  knowing  the  feel- 
ing prevalent  among  their  relatives  east  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  expected  that  at  least  a  thousand  immigrants, 
and  perhaps  two  or  three  times  as  many,  would  arrive  over- 
land every  year;  and  they  supposed  that  such  additions  to 
the  population  would  soon  add  much  to  the  value  of  prop- 
erty, to  the  demand  for  labor,  and  to  the  activity  of  general 
business.  The  immigration  would  be  especially  beneficial 
to  Sutter.  At  his  rancho  they  would  reach  the  first  set- 
tlement of  white  men  in  the  Sacramento  Valley.  There, 
after  their  toilsome  march  across  the  desert,  they  would 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       177 

stop  and  rest.  There,  they  would  purchase  supplies  of  food 
and  clothing.  There,  they  would  sell  their  exhausted 
horses  and  oxen,  and  buy  fresh  ones.  There,  the  penniless 
would  seek  employment.  There,  those  who  were  ready  to 
continue  their  journey  would  separate  for  the  valleys  to 
the  northward,  westward,  and  southward.  There,  parties 
starting  for  Oregon  or  "  the  States  "  would  obtain  their 
last  stock  of  supplies.  The  advantages  of  the  site  were 
numerous  and  evident. 

But  the  advantages  of  Slitter's  Fort  imposed  certain  ob- 
ligations on  its  owner.     He  should  be  prepared  to  furnish 


The  rush  to  California ;  a  caricature  of  the  time  from  Punch. 

provisions  to  the  immigrants.  He  should  not  expect  the 
Americans  to  be  content  with  the  Mexican  system  of  crush- 
ing grain  by  hand  on  the  metate,  as  the  flat  under  millstone 
of  the  Mexicans  and  native  .Californians  is  called,  the  upper 
millstone  being  cylindrical  and  used  like  a  rolling-pin.  He 


178  The  Westward  Movement 

ought  to  build  a  flour-mill  in  the  Sacramento  Valley  to 
grind  the  wheat  which  he  cultivated  in  considerable  quan- 
tity. There  was  no  great  difficulty  about  the  construction 
of  such  a  mill.  He  had  a  site  for  it  on  his  own  rancho. 
The  necessary  timber  for  it  could  be  found  not  far  away. 
Among  the  Americans  at  the  fort  there  was  skill  to  build 
and  to  manage  it.  These  ideas  pleased  Sutter ;  he  adopted 
them,  and  acted  on  them.  He  selected  a  site  and  made  his 
plans  for  a  flour-mill,  and,  partly  to  get  lumber  for  it,  he 
determined  to  build  a  saw-mill  also. 

Since  there  was  no  good  timber  in  the  valley,  the  saw- 
mill must  be  in  the  mountains.  The  site  for  it  was  selected 
by  James  W.  Marshall,  a  native  of  New  Jersey,  a  skilful 
wheelwright  by  occupation,  industrious,  honest,  generous, 
but  "  cranky,"  full  of  wild  fancies,  and  defective  in  some 
kinds  of  business  sense.  By  accident  he  discovered  the  gold 
of  California,  and  his  name  is  inseparably  connected  with 
her  history,  but  it  is  impossible  to  make  a  great  hero  of 
him.  The  place  for  his  mill  was  in  the  small  valley  of  Co- 
loma,  1500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  45  miles 
from  Sutter's  Fort,  from  which  it  was  accessible  by  wagon 
without  expense  for  road-making.  Good  yellow-pine  tim- 
ber was  abundant  in  the  surrounding  hills ;  the  water-power 
was  more  than  sufficient;  there  were  opportunities  to  make 
a  secure  dam  and  race  with  small  expense,  and  there  was 
little  danger  of  loss  by  flood.  Sutter  left  the  plans  and 
construction  of  the  mill,  as  well  as  the  selection  of  the  site, 
to  Marshall,  and  on  the  2/th  of  .August  the  two  signed 
an  agreement  of  partnership  under  which  Sutter  was  to 
furnish  money,  men,  tools  and  teams,  and  Marshall  was 
to  supply  the  skill  for  building  and  managing. 

While  the  project  of  the  saw-mill  was  under  considera- 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       179 

tion  some  Mormons  arrived  at  New  Helvetia  and  solicited 
employment.  They  had  belonged  to  the  Mormon  battalion, 
which,  after  enlisting  in  Nebraska  for  one  year,  marching 
to  the  Pacific  by  way  of  the  Gila,  and  garrisoning  San 
Diego,  had  been  mustered  out  at  Los  Angeles  on  the  pre- 
ceding 1 6th  of  July.  They  were  on  their  way  to  Salt 
Lake,  but  at  the  fort  received  letters  advising  all  who  could 
not  bring  provisions  for  the  winter  to  remain  in  California 
until  the  following  spring.  They  were  sober,  orderly, 
peaceful,  industrious  men,  and  Sutter  hired  them  to  work 
at  his  flour-mill  and  saw-mill.  He  sent  six  of  them  to 
Coloma.  Besides  these,  Marshall  had  three  "  Gentile " 
laborers,  and  about  a  dozen  Indians.  All  the  white  men 
were  natives  of  the  United  States. 

For  four  months  these  men  worked  at  Coloma,  seeing 
no  visitors,  and  rarely  communicating  with  the  fort.  The 
mill  had  been  nearly  completed,  the  dam  was  made,  the 
race  had  been  dug,  the  gates  had  been  put  in  place,  the 
water  had  been  turned  into  the  race  to  carry  away  some  of 
the  loose  dirt  and  gravel,  and  then  had  been  turned  off 
again.  On  the  afternoon  of  Monday  the  24th  of  January 
Marshall  was  walking  in  the  tail-race,  when  on  its  rotten 
granite  bed-rock  he  saw  some  yellow  particles  and  picked 
up  several  of  them.  The  largest  were  about  the  size  of 
grains  of  wheat.  They  were  smooth,  bright,  and  in  color 
much  like  brass.  He  thought  they  were  gold,  and  went 
to  the  mill,  where  he  told  the  men  that  he  had  found  a 
gold  mine.  At  the  time  little  importance  was  attached  to 
his  statement.  It  was  regarded  as  a  proper  subject  for 
ridicule. 

Marshall  hammered  his  new  metal,  and  found  it  malle- 
able; he  put  it  into  the  kitchen  fire,  and  observed  that  it 


i8o 


The  Westward  Movement 


did  not  readily  melt  or  become  discolored;  he  compared 
its  color  with  gold  coin;  and  the  more  he  examined  it, 
the  more  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  gold.  The  next 
morning  he  paid  another  visit  to  the  tail-race,  where  he 
picked  up  other  specimens ;  and  putting  all  he  had  collected, 
about  a  spoonful,  on  the  crown  of  his  slouch  hat,  he  went 
to  the  mill,  where  he  showed  them  to  the  men  as  proof 
of  his  discovery  of  a  gold  mine.  The  scantiness  in  the 
provision  supply  gave  Marshall  an  excuse  for  going  to  the 
fort,  though  he  would  probably  not  have  gone  at  this  time 
if  he  had  not  been  anxious  to  know  Sutter's  opinion  of  the 
metal.  He  rode  away,  and,  according  to  Sutter's  diary, 
arrived  at  the  fort  on  Friday  the  28th.  Sutter  had  an 
encyclopedia,  sulphuric  acid,  and  scales,  and  with  the  help 
of  these,  after  weighing  the  specimens  in  and  out  of  water, 
he  declared  that  they  were  undoubtedly  gold. 


Sutter's  Mill,  the  scene  of  the  gold  discovery. 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       181 

The  first  record  of  the  discovery,  and  the  only  one  made 
on  the  day  of  its  occurrence,  was  in  the  diary  of  Henry 
W.  Bigler,  one  of  the  Mormon  laborers  at  the  mill.  He 
was  an  American  by  birth,  then  a  young  man,  and 
afterwards  a  citizen  of  St.  George,  Utah.  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  keeping  a  regular  record  of  his  notable  obser- 
vations and  experiences,  selecting  topics  for  remark  with 
creditable  judgment.  His  journal  kept  during  his  service 
in  the  Mormon  battalion  and  his  subsequent  stay  in  Cal- 
ifornia is  one  of  the  valuable  historical  documents  of  the 
State.  On  the  24th  of  January,  in  the  evening,  Bigler 
wrote  in  his  diary,  "  This  day  some  kind  of  mettle  was 
found  in  the  tail-race  that  looks  like  goald." 

The  artless  arrangement  of  ideas,  and  the  ungrammatical 
phraseology,  accompanied  by  the  regular  mental  habits  that 
demanded  a  diary,  and  the  perception  that  enabled  him  to 
catch  with  his  pen  the  main  facts  of  life  as  they  passed, 
add  much  to  the  interest  as  well  as  to  the  authority  of  his 
diary. 

For  six  weeks  or  more  the  work  on  the  mill  continued 
without  serious  interruption.  Never  having  seen  placer- 
mining,  and  having  no  distinct  idea  of  the  methods  of 
finding  and  washing  gold,  the  laborers  at  Coloma  did  not 
know  how  to  gather  the  treasures  in  their  vicinity.  The 
first  one  to  find  gold  outside  of  the  tail-race  was  Bigler, 
who  was  the  hunter  of  the  party,  sent  out  by  Marshall  at 
least  one  day  in  every  week  to  get  venison,  which  was 
a  very  acceptable  addition  to  unground  wheat  and  salt 
salmon,  the  main  articles  of  food  sent  from  Sutter's  Fort. 
Deer  being  numerous  in  the  neighboring  hills,  it  was  not 
necessary  that  Bigler  should  go  far  for  game;  and  more 
than  once  he  managed,  while  hunting,  to  look  at  the  banks 


182 


The  Westward  Movement 


The  song  of  the  sirens  (from 
"  Punch"). 


of  the  river  and  find  some  of  the  precious  metal.  Hi:- 
report  of  his  success  stimulated  others,  and  they,  too,  found 
gold  at  various  places. 

In  regard  to  the  beginning  of 
gold  washing  as  a  regular  oc- 
cupation there  is  a  conflict  of 
testimony.  Bigler  says  that  the 
first  men  who,  within  the  range 
of  his  observation,  devoted 
themselves  to  placer-mining 
were  Willis  Hudson  and  five 
others,  all  of  Sam  Brannan's 
Mormon  colony,  whom  he 
visited  at  Mormon  Island,  on  the  American  River  below 
Coloma,  on  the  I2th  of  April.  On  that  day,  washing  the 
gravel  with  pans  and  pan-like  Indian  baskets,  they  took 
out  more  than  two  ounces  and  a  half  (forty-one  dollars) 
for  each  man.  On  the  other  hand,  Isaac  Humphrey, 
who  had  been  a  placer-miner  in  Georgia,  and  who 
was  the  first  person  to  use  a  rocker  in  the  Sierra  Nevada 
and  to  teach  others  there  to  use  it,  said  that  he  arrived  in 
Coloma  on  the  7th  of  March,  and  within  a  week  com- 
menced work  with  a  rocker.  We  may  explain  the  dis- 
crepancy between  these  two  authorities  by  imagining  that 
for  some  weeks  Humphrey  purposely  avoided  observation, 
as  placer-miners  often  do;  or  that  in  the  interval  of  ten 
years  between  his  first  appearance  at  Coloma  and  the 
publication  of  his  reminiscences  his  memory  misled  him  in 
the  date. 

In  the  spring  of  1848  San  Francisco,  a  village  of  about 
seven  hundred  inhabitants,  had  two  newspapers,  the  Cal- 
ifornian  and  the  Californian  Star,  both  weeklies. 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       183 


The  first  printed  mention  of  the  gold  discovery  was  a 
short  paragraph  in  the  former,  under  date  of  the  I5th  of 
March,  stating  that  a  gold  mine  had  been  found  at  Sutter's 
Mill,  and  that  a  package  of  the  metal  worth  thirty  dollars 
had  been  received  at  New  Helvetia.  Five  weeks  later  the 
Star  announced  that  its  editor,  E.  C.  Kemble,  was 
about  to  take  a  trip  into  the  country,  and  on  his  return 
would  report  his  observations.  He  went  to  Coloma  and 
either  saw  nothing  or  understood  nothing  of  what  he  saw, 
for  he  preserved  absolute  silence  in  his  paper  about  his 
trip.  On  the  2Oth  of  May,  after  a  number  of  men  had 
left  San  Francisco  for  the  mines,  he  came  out  with  the 
opinion  that  the  mines  were  a  "  sham,"  and  that  the  peo- 
ple who  had  gone  to  them  were  "  superlatively  silly."  The 
increasing  production  of  the  mines  soon  overwhelmed  the 
doubters;  and  before  the  middle  of  June  the  whole  terri- 
tory resounded  with  the  cry  of  "gold!  GOLD!!  GOLD!!!" 
as  it  was  printed  in  one 
of  the  local  newspapers. 
Nearly  all  the  men  hurried 
off  to  the  mines.  Work- 
shops, stores,  dwellings, 
wives  and  even  fields  of 
ripe  grain,  were  left  for 
a  time  to  take  care  of 
themselves. 

In  1848  the  gold  hunters 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada  did 
not  need  a  scientific  educa- 
tion. The  method  of 
washing  gold  was  then  so 
simple,  and  they  were  so 


A.  primitive  ontf.t 


184  The  Westward  Movement 

skilful  in  many  kinds  of  industrial  labor,  that  they 
learned  it  quickly.  Capital,  like  scientific  education  and 
technical  experience,  was  unnecessary  to  the  early 
placer-miner.  With  the  savings  of  a  week's  work  he 
could  buy  the  pick,  shovel,  pan,  and  rocker  which  were 
his  only  necessary  tools.  As  compared  with  other  aurifer- 
ous deposits  of  which  we  have  definite  knowledge,  those  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada  were  unequaled  for  the  facility  of 
working.  They  were  not  deep  under  ground,  or  scantily 
supplied  with  water,  as  in  Australia  and  South  Africa; 
nor  in  a  land  of  tropical  heat,  as  in  Brazil ;  nor  in  a 
region  of  long  and  severe  winters,  as  in  Siberia.  The 
deposits  were  on  land  belonging  to  the  National  Govern- 
ment, which,  without  charge, '  without  official  supervision, 
and  without  previous  permit  or  survey,  allowed  every 
citizen  to  take  all  the  gold  from  any  claim  held  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  local  regulations  adopted  by  the  miners 
of  his  district. 

The  first  gold  washing  was  done  on  the  bars  of  the  rivers, 
where  the  gravel  was  shallow,  usually  not  more  than  two 
or  three  feet  deep,  and  where  prospecting  was  easy,  and 
mining  was  prompt  in  its  returns  and  liberal  in  its  rewards. 
The  gravel  was  rich  if  it  yielded  twenty-five  cents  to  the 
pan ;  and  in  favorable  situations  a  man  could  dig  and  wash 
out  fifty  to  sixty  pans  in  a  day,  while  with  a  rocker  he 
could  do  three  times  as  much.  But  on  the  bars  of  the 
American,  the  Bear  and  the  Yuba  Rivers  it  was  no  uncom- 
mon event  to  obtain  from  one  dollar  to  five  dollars  in  a 
pan,  and  then  the  yield  for  a  day's  work  was  equal  to  a 
princely  revenue. 

When  the  rainy  season  began  in  the  winter  of  1848  the 
rivers  rose  and  covered  their  bars,  and  the  miners,  com- 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       185 

pelled  to  hunt  claims  elsewhere,  found  them  in  ravines 
which  were  dry  through  nine  months  of  the  year.  These 
were  in  many  cases  almost  as  rich  as  the  bars.  It  was  not 
uncommon  to  hear,  on  good  authority,  that  this  or  that 
man  had  taken  out  $1000  in  a  day,  and  occasionally  $5000 
or  more  would  reward  the  day's  work.  In  1849  the  miners 
generally  got  $16  a  day  or  more,  and  when  a  claim  would 
not  yield  that  much  it  had  no  value. 

The  successful  miners  demanded  provisions,  tools,  cloth- 
ing and  many  luxuries,  for  which  they  offered  prices 
double,  treble,  and  tenfold  greater  than  those  paid  else- 
where. Sailing  vessels  went  to  Oregon,  Mexico,  South 
America,  Australia  and  Polynesia  with  gold  dust  to  pur- 
chase supplies,  and  soon  filled  all  the  seaports  of  the  Pacific 
with  the  contagion  of  excitement.  The  reports  of  the  dis- 
covery, which  began  to  reach  the  Atlantic  States  in  Sep- 
tember, 1848,  commanded  little  credence  there  before  Janu- 
ary; but  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  large  amounts  of  gold 
at  Mazatlan,  Valparaiso,  Panama,  and  New  York  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  winter  put  an  end  to  all  doubt,  and  in 
the  spring  there  was  such  a  rush  of  peaceful  migration 
as  the  world  had  never  seen.  In  1849,  25,000  —  accord- 
ing to  one  authority,  50,000  —  immigrants  went  by  land, 
and  23,000  by  sea  from  the  region  east  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  by  sea  perhaps  40,000  from  other  parts  of 
the  world,  adding  twelve- fold  to  the  population  and  fifty- 
fold  to  the  productive  capacity  of  the,  territory.  The  new- 
comers were  nearly  all  young,  intelligent,  and  industrious 
men.  Fortunately  the  diggings  were  rich  enough  and  ex- 
tensive enough  to  give  good  reward  to  all  of  them,  and  to 
much  larger  numbers  who  came  in  later  years.  The  gold 
yield  of  1848  was  estimated  at  $5,000,000;  that  of  1849 


1 86  The  Westward  Movement 

at  $23,000,000;  that  of  1850  at  $50,000,000;  that  of  1853 
at  $65,000,000;  and  then  came  the  decline  which  has  con- 
tinued until  the  present  time.  In  forty-one  years  the  gold 
yield  of  California  was  about  $1,200,000,000. 

Gold  mining  was  neither  novel  nor  rare,  but  the  un- 
exampled combination  of  wonderful  richness,  highly  favor- 
able geographical  conditions,  high  intelligence  in  the  miners, 
and  great  freedom  in  the  political  institutions  of  California 
led  to  such  a  sudden  rush  of  people,  and  such  an  immense 
production  of  gold,  that  the  whole  world  was  shaken.  The 
older  placers  of  Brazil  and  Siberia,  and  the  later  ones  of 
Australia  and  South  Africa,  had  a  much  smaller  influence 
on  general  commerce  and  manufactures. 

The  discovery  of  the  mines  was  an  American  achieve- 
ment. It  was  the  result  of  the  American  conquest,  and  of 
preparation  for  American  immigrants.  It  was  made  by  an 
American,  one  of  a  little  grou;^  of  laborers  in  which  all 
the  white  men  were  Americans,  as  were  the  first  men  who 
devoted  themselves  to  mining.  They  also  were  Americans 
who  subsequently  invented  the  sluice  and  the  hydraulic 
process  of  placer-washing,  and  who  planned  and  constructed 
the  great  ditches,  flumes,  and  dam:,  lhat  gave  a  distinctive 
character  to  the  ^lacer-mining  of  California. 

Let  us  now  consider  th  consequences  of  the  discovery. 
First,  as  to  the  men  at  Coloma  in  January,  1848,  Marshall 
was  not  enriched.  His  lumber  was  soon  in  demand  at 
$500  a  thousand  feet  of  board  measure,  or  twenty-fold 
more  than  he  had  expected  when  he  commenced  his  work; 
but  not  many  months  elapsed  before  all  the  good  timber 
trees  near  Coloma  had  been  cut  down  by  the  miners,  and 
then  the  mill  had  to  stop.  He  turned  his  attention  to 
mining,  but  was  not  successful.  When  he  had  money  he 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       187 

did  not  know  how  to  keep  it.     When  he  had  a  good  claim 
he  did  not  stick  to  it. 

Slitter's  popularity  with  the  pioneers  was  so  great  that 
when  he  had  lost  all  his  property  the  legislature  came  to 
his  aid  with  a  pension  of  $3,000  a  year,  which  sum  was 
paid  for  six  years;  and  it  would  perhaps  have  been  con- 
tinued till  his  death  if  he  had  not  left 
the  State  in  order  to  demand  justice 
from  Congress  for  the  spoliation  of 
his  property.  But  he  did  not  possess 
the  same  popularity  and  influence  in 
the  Eastern  States  as  in  California. 
He  spent  winters  of  vain  solicitation 
at  Washington,  and  there  he  died  on 
tfie  1 8th  of  June,  1880,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-seven  years.  His  grave  is  at 
Litiz,  Lancaster  County,  Pennsylvania, 
where  he  had  made  his  home. 

For  California  the  main  results  of 

the   discovery   have   been  the    sudden  Marshall  Monument  at 

Coloma     (erected    in 
changes  from  a  Spanish-speaking  to  an      1889  by  the  Society 

English-speaking     community;     from      °ff 

popular  ignorance  to  high  intelligence; 
from  pasturage,  first  to  mining,  and  then  to  tillage,  as  the 
occupation  of  most  of  the  people;  from  a  population  of 
less  than  10,000  to  more  than  1,200,000;  and  from  isola- 
tion to  frequent,  cheap,  and  convenient  communication 
with  all  civilized  countries.  The  State  has  become  one 
of  the  most  noted  gardens,  pleasure  grounds,  and  sani- 
tariums of  the  world;  and  San  Francisco  is  one  of  the 
most  intellectual  and  brilliant,  and  in  many  respects  one 
of  the  most  interesting,  of  cities.  To  the  United  States 


i88  The  Westward  Movement 

the  Calif ornian  gold  discovery  gave  a  vast  increase  of  the 
national  wealth;  great  attractiveness  for  immigration  from 
Europe;  a  strong  stimulus  to  shipping;  the  development  of 
the  mineral  wealth  of  Nevada,  Idaho,  and  Utah;  and  the 
vast  railroad  system  west  of  the  Mississippi. 

But  Marshall's  find  did  not  limit  its  great  influences  to 
our  continent.  It  aroused  and  stimulated  industrial  activity 
in  all  the  leading  nations.  It  profoundly  agitated  all  the 
countries  of  South  America.  It  shook  Europe  and  Asia. 
It  caused  the  first  large  migration  of  the  Chinese  across 
the  Pacific.  It  opened  Japan  to  the  traffic  of  Christendom. 
It  threw  a  belt  of  steam  around  the  globe.  It  educated 
Hargraves,  and  taught  him  where  to  find  and  how  to  open 
up  the  gold  deposits  of  Australia.  It  built  the  Panama 
railroad.  It  brought  the  Pacific  Ocean  within  the  domain 
of  active  commerce.  Directly  and  indirectly  it  added  $3,- 
500,000,000  to  the  stock  of  the  precious  metals,  and  by 
giving  the  distribution  of  this  vast  sum  to  the  English- 
speaking  nations  added  much  to  their  great  industrial  and 
intellectual  influence. 

MARSHALL'S  OWN  NARRATIVE. 

"  In  May,  1847,  with  my  rifle,  blanket,  and  a  few  crackers 
to  eat  with  the  venison  (for  the  deer  then  were  awful 
plenty),  I  ascended  the  American  River,  according  to  Mr. 
Sutter's  wish,  as  he  wanted  to  find  a  good  site  for  a  saw- 
mill, where  we  could  have  plenty  of  timber,  and  where 
wagons  would  be  able  to  ascend  and  descend  the  river  hills. 
Many  fellows  had  been  out  before  me,  but  they  could  not 
find  any  place  to  suit;  so  when  I  left  I  told  Mr.  Sutter 
I  would  go  along  the  river  to  its  very  head  and  find  the 
place,  if  such  a  place  existed  anywhere  upon  the  river  or 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       189 

any  of  its  forks.  I  traveled  along  the  river  the  whole  way. 
Many  places  would  suit  very  well  for  the  erection  of  the 
mill,  with  plenty  of  timber  everywhere,  but  then  nothing 
but  a  mule  could  climb  the  hills;  and  when  I  would  find 
a  spot  where  the  hills  were  not  steep,  there  was  no  timber 
to  be  had ;  and  so  it  was  until  I  had  been  out  several  days 
and  reached  this  place,  which,  after  first  sight,  looked  like 
the  exact  spot  we  were  hunting. 

"  I  passed  a  couple  of  days  examining  the  hills,  and  found 
a  place  where  wagons  could  ascend  and  descend  with  all 
ease.  On  my  return  to  the  fort  I  went  out  through  the 
country  examining  the  canons  and  gulches,  and  picking  out 
the  easiest  places  for  crossing  them  with  loaded  wagons. 

"  You  may  be  sure  Mr.  Sutter  was  pleased  when  I  re- 
ported my  success.  We  entered  into  partnership;  I  was 
to  build  the  mill,  and  he  was  to  find  provisions,  teams, 
tools,  and  to  pay  a  portion  of  the  men's  wages.  I  be- 
lieve I  was  at  that  time  the  only  millwright  in  the  whole 
country.  In  August,  everything  being  ready,  we  freighted 
two  wagons  with  tools  and  provisions,  and  accompanied 
by  six  men  I  left  the  fort,  and  after  a  good  deal  of  diffi- 
culty reached  this  place  one  beautiful  afternoon  and  formed 
our  camp  on  yon  little  rise  of  ground  right  above  the  town. 

"  Our  first  business  was  to  put  up  log  houses,  as  we 
intended  remaining  here  all  winter.  This  was  done  in  less 
than  no  time,  for  my  men  were  great  with  the  ax.  We 
then  cut  timber,  and  fell  to  work  hewing  it  for  the  frame- 
work of  the  mill.  The  Indians  gathered  about  us  in  great 
numbers.  I  employed  about  forty  of  them  to  assist  us 
with  the  dam,  which  we  put  up  in  a  kind  of  way  in  about 
four  weeks.  In  digging  the  foundation  of  the  mill  we 
cut  some  distance  into  the  soft  granite;  we  opened  the 


igo  The  Westward  Movement 

forebay  and  then  I  left  for  the  fort,  giving  orders  to  Mr. 
Weimar  to  have  a  ditch  cut  through  the  bar  in  the  rear 
of  the  mill,  and  after  quitting  work  in  the  evening  to  raise 
the  gate  and  let  the  water  run  all  night,  as  it  would  assist 
us  very  much  in  deepening  and  widening  the  tail-race. 

"  I  returned  in  a  few  days,  and  found  everything  favor- 
able, all  the  men  being  at  work  in  the  ditch.  When  the 
channel  was  opened  it  was  my  custom  every  evening  to 
raise  the  gate  and  let  the  water  wash  out  as  much  sand 
and  gravel  through  the  night  as  possible;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing, while  the  men  were  getting  breakfast,  I  would  walk 
down,  and,  shutting  off  the  water,  look  along  the  race  and 
see  what  was  to  be  done,  so  that  I  might  tell  Mr.  Weimar, 
who  had  charge  of  the  Indians,  at  what  particular  point 
to  set  them  to  work  for  the  day  As  I  was  the  only  mill- 
wright present,  all  of  my  time  was  employed  upon  the 
framework  and  machinery. 

"  One  morning  in  January, —  it  was  a  clear,  cold  morn- 
ing; I  shall  never  forget  that  morning, —  as  I  was  taking 
my  usual  walk  along  the  race  after  shutting  off  the  water, 
my  eye  was  caught  with  the  glimpse  of  something  shin- 
ing in  the  bottom  of  the  ditch.  There  was  about  a  foot  of 
water  running  then.  I  reached  my  hand  down  and  picked 
it  up;  it  made  my  heart  thump,  for  I  was  certain  it  was 
gold.  The  piece  was  about  half  the  size  and  of  the  shape 
of  a  pea.  Then  I  saw  another  piece  in  the  water.  After 
taking  it  out  I  sat  down  and  began  to  think  right  hard. 
I  thought  it  was  gold,  and  yet  it  did  not  seem  to  be  of 
the  right  color:  all  the  gold  coin  I  had  seen  was  of  a  red- 
dish tinge ;  this  looked  more  like  brass.  I  recalled  to  mind 
all  the  metals  I  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of,  but  I  could  find 
none  that  resembled  this.  Suddenly  the  idea  flashed  across 


Discovery  of  Gold  in  California       191 

my  mind  that  it  might  be  iron  pyrites.  I  trembled  to  think 
of  it!  This  question  could  soon  be  determined.  Putting 
one  of  the  pieces  on  a  hard  river  stone,  I  took  another 
and  commenced  hammering  it.  It  was  soft,  and  did  n't 
break:  it  therefore  must  be  gold,  but  largely  mixed  with 
some  other  metal,  very  likely  silver;  for  pure  gold,  I 
thought,  would  certainly  have  a  brighter  color. 

"  When  I  returned  to  our  cabin  for  breakfast  I  showed 
the  two  pieces  to  my  men.  They  were  all  a  good  deal 
excited,  and  had  they  not  thought  that  the  gold  only  ex- 
isted in  small  quantities  they  would  have  abandoned  every 
thing  and  left  me  to  finish  my  job  alone.  However,  to 
satisfy  them,  I  told  them  that  as  soon  as  we  had  the  mill 
finished  we  would  devote  a  week  or  two  to  gold  hunting 
and  see  what  we  could  make  out  of  it." 


PIONEER  MINING 
BY  E.  G.  WAITE 

Pioneer  mining  life  — 
what  was  it?  The  miner 
must  have  an  outfit  of 
a  pick,  pan,  shovel,  rocker, 
dipper  and  bucket  of 
wood,  or  of  rawhide.  A 
tent  was  good  to  have, 
but  he  could  make  shift 
during  the  dry  season 
with  a  substitute  of 
boughs,  for  there  was  no 
fear  of  rain  from  May 
to  October.  A  blanket 
of  rubber  spread  on  a 
stratum  of  leaves,  on 
which  his  woolen  blankets 
were  laid,  sufficed  for  a 

bed.  His  culinary  utensils  were  confined  to  a  frying-pan, 
a  small  iron  pot,  tin  cups  and  plates,  knife,  fork,  and 
spoon.  His  wardrobe  consisted  generally  of  a  pair  of 
serviceable  shirts,  a  change  of  trousers,  strong  boots  and 
a  slouch-hat.  With  these,  and  a  supply  of  bacon,  flour, 
salt,  saleratus,  beans,  a  few  candles  and  occasionally 
fresh  beef,  the  miner  was  ready  for  work.  His  luxuries 
were  tea  and  raw  sugar,  with  occasionally  the  addition  of 

192 


Working  a  claim. 


Pioneer  Mining  193 

dried  peaches  from  Chili.  His  bread  was  made  by  mixing 
flour,  water,  and  saleratus  in  the  tin  or  iron  pan  which 
did  double  duty  in  the  kitchen  and  in  gathering  gold,  and 
baking  it  about  two  inches  thick,  like  a  shortcake.  But 
slapjacks,  the  legitimate  successors  of  the  Mexican  tortillas, 
were  also  a  stand- 
ard article  of  diet. 
Tin  teapots  were 
sometimes  affected, 
but  the  small  iron 
pot  with  a  hollow 
handle  did  duty 
for  both  tea  and 
beans  or  frijoles. 
The  latter  were  of  a  brown  variety  grown  in  Chili,  and  were 
prepared  after  the  Mexican  style  with  a  piece  of  bacon  or 
fresh  beef  and  plenty  of  chili  Colorado,  or  red  pepper. 
They  were  allowed  to  cook  a  long  time,  often  standing  in 
the  hot  embers  over  night  to  be  ready  for  breakfast  in 
the  morning.  The  bill-of-fare  did  not  vary  much  for  break- 
fast, dinner  and  supper. 

The  most  expensive  instrument  of  the  early  miner  was 
the  rocker,  which,  though  simple  in  construction,  cost  in 
the  mines  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  dollars.  In  general  ap- 
pearance it  was  not  unlike  a  baby's  cradle  as  used  by  our 
grandmothers  and  as  still  seen  on  the  frontier.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  flat  bottom  with  two  sides  that  flared  outward, 
and  an  end  board  at  the  head,  while  the  foot  was  open  save 
a  riffle  about  an  inch  and  a  half  high  at  the  bottom  to  catch 
the  gold  that  might  pass  another  riffle  across  the  bottom 
near  the  middle.  At  the  head  of  the  cradle  was  a  hopper 
about  eighteen  inches  square,  with  a  perforated  sheet-iron 


194  The  Westward  Movement 

bottom  or  wire  screen.  Under  this  was  an  apron,  or  board, 
sloping  downward  towards  the  head.  Two  substantial 
rockers  under  the  whole  completed  the  simple  machine 
which  gave  to  the  world  millions  of  dollars.  The  modus 
operandi  may  be  described  as  follows :  Two  sticks  of  wood 
hewn  on  the  upper  side  were  imbedded  at  the  river's  brink, 
one  four  inches  lower  than  the  other,  on  which  the  rockers 
were  to  rest,  thus  securing  a  grade  in  the  machine  to  facili- 
tate the  outward  flow  of  the  water  and  sand.  Two  miners 
usually  worked  together  as  partners.  One  shoveled  the 
earth  into  the  rocker,  while  the  other,  seated  on  a  boulder 
or  block  of  wood,  dipped  the  water  from  the  river,  and 
poured  it  upon  the  earth  in  the  hopper  with  one  hand, 
all  the  time  rocking  with  the  other.  When  the  earth  was 
thoroughly  washed,  he  rose,  lifted  the  hopper  from  its  place, 
threw  out  the  stones  and  gravel,  replaced  it,  and  thus  the 
work  went  on.  As  the  ground  about  the  rocker  became 
exhausted  to  the  bed-rock,  recourse  was  had  to  the  bucket, 
and  the  earth  was  carried  sometimes  a  few  rods,  making 
laborious  work  for  the  miner.  To  keep  the  rocker  going 
another  hand  would  be  employed  to  carry  earth,  and  each 
would  carry  two  buckets  at  a  time.  I  was  in  many  camps 
down  to  1854,  and  in  none  did  I  ever  know  of  a  theft 
of  gold,  and  I  heard  of  but  one,  and  that  was  punished 
by  a  cat-o'-nine-tails,  which  was  afterward  nailed  to  the 
center-post  of  a  trader's  tent,  as  a  warning  to  evil-doers. 
The  gold  taken  from  the  river  bars  was  mostly  in  the 
form  of  scales  resembling  cucumber  seeds,  and  of  varying 
size.  It  was  most  plentiful  on  the  bed-rock  and  in  a  few 
inches  of  soil  above  it,  though  sometimes  three  or  four 
feet  of  earth  would  pay  to  wash.  Where  the  bed-rock 
was  hard  the  miner  cleaned  it,  for  a  shovelful  of  dirt  might 


Pioneer  Mining 


195 


contain  a  few  dollars  in  small  particles.  Where  the  bed- 
rock was  soft  shale  or  slate  on  edge  the  miner  picked 
away  an  inch  or  so  and  washed  it,  as  frequently  the  scales 
were  found  to  be  driven  quite  thickly  into  the  crevices. 
When  the  ground  was  very  rich  the  rocker  was  cleaned  of 
gold  every  hour  or  two.  When  work  was  over,  around 
the  supper  fire  the  events  of  the  day  were  discussed,  earn- 
ings compared,  reports  made  of  grizzly  bears  or  deer  be- 
ing seen  or  killed,  of  better  diggings  of  "  coarse  gold  " 
discovered.  This  was  the  hour  for  speculations  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  gold  in  the  rivers,  and  a  strong  opinion  was 
entertained  by  many  who  were  not  well-read  that  immense 
masses  of  the  precious  metal  would  some  day  be  brought 
to  light  in  the  snow-capped 
peaks  towering  to  the  east. 
"  Coarse  gold  "  was  a  charm 
to  the  ear  of  the  ordinary 
miner.  His  claim  might 
be  paying  him  an  ounce  a 
day  in  fine  gold,  but  he  was 
always  interested  in  some 
reported  diggings  far  away 
where  the  product  was  in 
lumps,  and  not  infrequently 
he  left  a  good  mine  to  seek 
some  richer  El  Dorado. 
The  characteristic  and  be- 
setting fault  of  the  early 
miner  was  unrest.  He  was  forever  seeking  better  fortune. 
Yet  it  was  this  passion  for  prospecting  that  resulted 
in  the  discovery  of  gold  in  an  incredibly  short  time 
from  the  southern  end  of  the  San  Joaquin  Valley  to  the 


Surface  sluicing. 


196  The  Westward  Movement 

northern  limit  of  the  State.  To  "  prospect "  was  to  find 
a  spot  that  looked  favorable  and  make  an  examination  of 
it.  The  miner  would  take  a  pan  of  earth,  shake  .and 
gyrate  it  under  water,  raising  and  tipping  it  frequently  to 
run  the  dirt  and  water  off,  then  plunge  it  again,  and  so  con- 
tinue until  a  small  residuum  of  black  sand  and  gold  re- 


mained.  A  speck  of  gold  was  the  "  color,"  several  specks 
were  "  several  colors,"  and  the  number  and  size  determined 
the  judgment  of  the  miner  whether  he  should  go  to  work 
or  move  on.  I  have  seen  ounces  taken  in  this  way  in  a 
single  pan,  but  in  the  earlier  days  we  counted  a  "  bit " 
to  the  pan,  twelve  and  a  half  cents,  a  fair  prospect. 

The  average  gain  of  the  miner  in  those  days  can  never 
be  known.  Though  he  was  extraordinarily  frank  and  con- 
fiding in  the  offhand  conversations  about  the  camp-fire, 
yet  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  his  largest  receipts  were 
sometimes  not  reported.  My  observation  was  that  the  in- 
dustrious worker  rarely  brought  to  his  supper  less  than 
ten  dollars,  often  an  ounce  (reckoned  at  sixteen  dollars), 
and  sometimes  six  ounces,  or  even  more.  I  myself  took 
from  the  earth  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  ounces  in 


Pioneer  Mining  197 

seventeen  successive  working  days.  My  largest  clean-up 
was  $224.  One  day,  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  I  took  with 
my  knife  from  a  crevice  in  the  rocks  six  and  a  half  ounces 
of  gold.  When  the  river  went  down  after  it  had  been 
swollen  by  the  first  rains  and  had  swept  over  the  bed- 
rock of  bars  supposed  to  be  worked  out,  hundreds  of  glit- 
tering scales  were  left  exposed,  affording  pleasant  picking 
for  a  day  or  two. 

Mining  is  one  of  the  most  fascinating  and  exciting  of 
employments.  But  in  the  earlier  days,  when  we  knew  less 
about  genuine  indications,  mining  was,  more  than  now, 
a  species  of  gambling.  The  effects  are  yet  to  be  seen  in 
hundreds  of  men  still  living  near  their  old  haunts,  who, 
in  common  phrase,  have  "lost  their  grip*';  others  live  in 
our  memories  who,  after  repeated  disappointment,  sleep  on 
the  mountain  sides  in  nameless  graves.  Yet  these  same 
unfortunates  did  their  part  in  giving  to  the  world  thousands 
of  millions  of  dollars,  thus  stimulating  progress  probably 
more  than  was  ever  known  in  any  other  epoch  of  similar 
length  in  the  history  of  mankind. 

The  early  miner  has  never  been  truly  painted.  I  pro- 
test against  the  flippant  style  and  eccentric  rhetoric  of  those 
writers  who  have  made  him  a  terror,  or  who,  seizing  upon 
a  sporadic  case  of  extreme  oddity,  some  drunken,  brawl- 
ing wretch,  have  given  a  caricature  to  the  world  as  the 
typical  miner.  The  so-called  literature  that  treats  of  the 
golden  era  is  too  extravagant  in  this  direction.  In  all  my 
personal  experience  in  mining-camps  from  1849  to  1854 
there  was  not  a  case  of  bloodshed,  robbery,  theft  or  ac- 
tual violence.  I  doubt  if  a  more  orderly  society  was  ever 
known.  How  could  it  be  otherwise?  The  pioneers  were 
young,  ardent,  uncorrupted,  most  of  them  well  educated  and 


igS  The  Westward  Movement 

from  the  best  families  in  the  East.  The  early  miner  was 
ambitious,  energetic,  and  enterprising.  No  undertaking 
was  too  great  to  daunt  him.  The  pluck  and  resources  ex- 
hibited by  him  in  attempting  mighty  projects  with  nothing 
but  his  courage  and  his  brawny  arms  to  carry  them  out 
was  phenomenal.  His  generosity  was  profuse  and  his 
sympathy  active,  knowing  no  distinction  of  race.  His 
sentiment  that  justice  is  sacred  was  never  dulled.  His  serv- 
ices were  at  command  to  settle  differences  peaceably,  or 
with  pistol  in  hand  to  right  a  grievous  wrong  to  a  stranger. 
His  capacity  for  self-government  never  has  been  surpassed* 
Of  a  glorious  epoch,  he  was  of  a  glorious  race. 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST  IN  THE  EARLY 
EIGHTIES 

BY  E.  V.  SMALLEY 

FURTHER    WEST. 

The  old  order  of  developing  new  regions  in  the  West 
was  reversed  when  the  railroad  era  began.  Formerly  the 
country  was  settled  first,  and  the  towns  grew  up  to  supply 
the  needs  of  the  rural  population.  Afterwards  the  towns 
were  created  by  speculators  far  in  advance  of  the  farming 
settlement;  and  by  the  conveniences  they  afforded  for  sell- 
ing crops,  and  buying  implements,  lumber  and  household 
supplies,  they  attracted  farmers  to  their  vicinity.  Each 
new  frontier  town  is  an  advertisement  of  the  surrounding 
country,  upon  the  settlement  of  which  it  must  depend  for 
its  existence.  The  towns-folk  are  untiring  in  their  praises 
of  the  soil  and  climate,  and  if  you  believe  them  the  next 
grade  of  human  felicity  to  living  in  their  raw  little  village 
is  to  live  upon  a  farm  in  the  neighborhood.  Whatever 
happens  in  the  way  of  disagreeable  weather,  they  assure 
you  it  is  good  for  the  crops.  If  it  snows  in  May  or  hails 
in  June,  they  come  up  smiling,  and  remark  blandly  that 
it  is  just  what  the  crops  need.  The  creation  of  a  new 
town  on  a  line  of  railroad  pushing  its  track  out  into  the 
vacant,  treeless  spaces  of  the  far  West,  is  an  interesting 
process  to  observe.  A  speculator,  or  a  company  of  specula- 
tors, look  over  the  ground  carefully  fifty  or  a  hundred 
miles  in  advance  of  the  temporary  terminus  of  the  rail- 

199 


20O  The  Westward  Movement 

road,  and  hit  upon  a  site  which  they  think  has  special  ad- 
vantages, and  is  far  enough  away  from  the  last  town. 
They  make  a  treaty  with  the  railroad  company  for  a  sec- 
tion of  land,  agreeing,  perhaps,  to  share  the  prospective 
profits  on  the  sale  of  lots.  Then  they  "  scrip "  the  ad- 
joining sections  of  Government  land,  or  take  it  up  with 
desert  land  claims.  A  large  amount  of  land  scrip  is 
afloat  on  the  market  issued  in  pursuance  of  Indian  treaties, 
Agricultural  College  grants,  old  Military  Bounty  Land  acts 
and  other  peculiar  features  of  our  complicated  Public  Land 
System.  The  speculator  with  his  pocket  stocked  with  scrip 
is  able  to  pick  out  any  choice  sections  not  occupied  by 
homestead  or  preemption  claimants.  Having  thus  ob- 
tained a  sufficient  body  of  land  to  operate  with,  the  foun- 
ding of  the  new  town  is  trumpeted  in  the  newspapers,  and  in 
all  the  frontier  region  for  hundreds  of  miles  there  is  a 
stir  of  excitement  about  the  coming  city.  Billings,  on 
the  Yellowstone,  is  a  good  example  of  a  town  made  by 
this  process.  In  the  beginning  it  had  no  existence  save 
in  the  brains  of  its  inventors.  The  bare  prairie  was  staked 
out  in  streets,  avenues  and  parks,  on  a  scale  for  a  city 
of  twenty  thousand  inhabitants.  A  map  was  engraved,  and 
within  a  few  weeks  after  the  place  got  its  name,  the 
"  Billings  boom  "  began  to  be  talked  of  as  far  east  as  St. 
Paul.  Billings  lots  were  advertised  in  every  town  from 
St.  Paul  to  Miles  City,  and  whole  blocks  were  sold  in 
Chicago  and  New  York.  The  purchasers,  as  a  rule,  knew 
no  more  about  the  valley  of  the  Yellowstone  than  about  that 
of  the  Congo,  and  few  of  them  could  have  put  their 
finger  on  a  spot  upon  a  map  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
Billings.  They  heard  there  was  a  boom,  and  were  eager 
to  take  their  chances  for  profit  or  loss.  It  was  enough  for 


The  Great  Northwest  201 

them  to  hear  the  place  spoken  of  as  the  future  metropolis 
of  the  Yellow 'stone  Valley.  Within  sixty  days  from  the 
time  when  Billings  got  a  local  habitation  and  a  name,  lots 
to  the  value  of  $220,000  were  sold  within  its  limits,  and 
before  thirty  days  more  had  elapsed  the  purchasers  had 
advanced  the  imaginary  value  of  their  holdings  from  one 
hundred  to  three  hundred  per  cent. 

Charles  Dickens  once  said  that  the  typical  American 
would  hesitate  about  entering  heaven,  unless  assured  that 
he  could  go  further  West.  The  men  who  lead  the  advance 
of  the  army  of  civilization  on  the  frontier  skirmish  line 
do  not  come  from  the  rear.  They  are  always  the  scouts 
and  pickets.  The  people  of  the  six-weeks-old  town  do  not 
come  from  the  East.  As  a  rule  they  are  from  the  one-year- 
old  and  two-year-old  towns  a  little  further  back.  Most 
of  the  men  I  met  in  the  Yellowstone  country  were  from 
Eastern  Dakota,  or  the  Black  Hills  region,  or  from  Western 
Minnesota.  When  asked  why  they  left  homes  so  recently 
made  in  a  new  country,  their  reply  was  invariably  that 
they  wanted  to  get  further  West. 

BILLINGS    AND    COULSON. 

We  came  upon  Billings  one  sunny  day  in  May  [about 
1882],  dropped  upon  it,  I  might  say;  for  after  a  ten  miles' 
drive  across  a  high  and  windy  plateau,  the  immense  daz- 
zling range  of  the  Big  Snowy  Mountains  looming  up  in 
front,  the  ground  fell  away  abruptly  and  the  town  lay  at 
our  feet  in  a  broad,  green  valley.  The  yellow-pine  houses, 
untouched  by  paint,  glistened  in  the  sunlight  like  gold.  The 
valley,  hemmed  in  by  precipitous  cliffs  on  the  north,  and 
by  black,  bare  hills  beyond  the  muddy  river  on  the  south, 
stretched  away  to  the  west  to  distant  mountain  slopes. 


202  The  Westward  Movement 

Under  the  shadow  of  a  huge  sandstone  butte  lay  the  little 
hamlet  of  Coulson,  now  quite  out  of  spirits  because  of 
the  new  town  a  mile  further  on.  Old  Coulson,  it  was 
called,  though  its  age  was  only  three  years.  It  had  made 
some  money  buying  buffalo  robes  of  the  Crow  Indians 
across  the  river,  and  selling  shirting,  groceries,  and  whisky 
to  a  few  herdsmen  whose  cattle  graze  in  the  Musselshell 
Ranges.  Now  it  must  abandon  its  score  of  "  shacks  "  and 
shanties  or  move  them  up  to  Billings.  The  new  town, 
when  I  visited  it,  consisted  of  perhaps  fifty  cheap  structures 
scattered  over  a  square  mile  of  bottom-land.  Many  peo- 
ple were  living  in  little  A  tents  or  in  their  canvas-covered 
wagons,  waiting  for  lumber  to  arrive  with  which  to  build 
houses.  Sixty  dollars  a  thousand  was  the  price  of  a  poor 
quality  of  green  stuff  brought  from  a  mill  twenty  miles 
up  the  Yellowstone.  All  articles  of  food,  except  beef, 
were  frightfully  dear.  Potatoes  were  eight  cents  a  pound, 
flour  six  dollars  a  sack.  I  doubt  if  one  in  ten  of  the  in- 
habitants could  tell  why  he  had  come.  The  migrating  im- 
pulse is  the  only  way  to  account  for  the  movement  of 
merchants,  mechanics,  farmers,  speculators,  gamblers, 
liquor-sellers,  preachers  and  doctors  to  a  point  nearly  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  anything  that  can  be  called 
a  town  —  a  point,  too,  in  a  region  inhabited  only  by  Crow 
Indians  and  a  few  scattered  herdsmen.  At  the  signal  that 
a  town  was  to  be  created,  all  these  people,  of  diverse  pos- 
sessions and  ambitions,  moved  forward  and  occupied  the 
site  as  though  they  were  soldiers  marching  at  the  word  of 
command.  What  a  wonderful  self -organizing  thing  is  so- 
ciety! How  did  the  German  baker  from  St.  Paul,  the 
milliner  from  Minneapolis,  the  Chinese  laundryman  from 
the  Pacific  slope,  the  blacksmith,  the  carpenter,  the  butcher. 


The  Great  Northwest 


203 


the  beer-seller,  the  grocer  and  all  the  other  constituent 
parts  of  a  complete  community  happen  to  feel  the  desire, 
at  the  same  time,  to  go  with  their  trades  and  wares  to 
a  remote  spot  in  an  unknown  land? 

Large  herds  of  cattle  graze  in  the  valleys  of  the  Yellow- 
stone and  its  tributaries,   and  in  the  hill  country  as   far 


A  great  farm  in  the  New  Northwest. 
All  the  land  is  cultivated    even  the  hillsides. 

north  as  the  Upper  Missouri,  wherever  there  are  small 
streams  or  water  holes.  Now  that  the  buffalo  is  fast  dis- 
appearing, the  region  would  afford  pasturage  to  at  least 
ten  times  as  many  cattle  as  it  supports  at  present.  The 
stockmen  who  occupy  it  are  generally  careful,  however, 
not  to  let  this  fact  be  known,  as  they  naturally  would 
like  to  keep  the  whole  section  for  the  future  increase  of 
their  own  herds.  Cattle-raising  in  Montana  is  an  exceed- 
ingly profitable  business.  One  hears  a  great  deal  said  in 
the  Territory  of  the  wealth  of  the  "  cattle-kings,"  and  how 
they  began  their  careers  a  few  years  ago  with  only  a  few 


204  The  Westward  Movement 

hundred  dollars.  The  local  estimate  of  the  annual  return 
from  money  invested  in  a  herd  of  cattle  is  from  thirty  to 
fifty  per  cent.  The  life  of  a  stockman  is  not,  however, 
an  idle  and  comfortable  one,  as  often  pictured  in  the  news- 
paper accounts  of  the  business.  Unless  he  is  rich  enough 
to  hire  herdsmen  he  must  look  after  his  herd  constantly. 
He  lives,  as  a  rule,  in  a  wretched  dirt-roof  "  shack,"  and 
passes  most  of  the  time  in  the  saddle,  seeing  that  his  ani- 
mals do  not  stray  too  far  off  the  range.  In  the  fierce 
winter  storms  he  must  be  out  driving  the  herd  into  ravines 
and  deep  valleys,  where  they  will  be  protected  from  the 
wind.  No  shelter  is  built  for  stock  in  Montana.  The 
dried  bunch-grass  furnishes  abundant  winter  grazing,  and 
the  animals  get  through  the  severe  weather  with  a  loss 
rarely  exceeding  four  per  cent.  In  the  spring  each  owner 
"  rounds  up "  his  herd,  and  brands  the  calves.  Every 
ranchman  has  his  own  brand,  which  he  registers  in  the 
office  of  the  county  clerk,  and  advertises  in  the  nearest 
local  paper,  printed,  it  may  be,  one  or  two  hundred  miles 
from  his  range.  The  annual  drive  of  bullocks  across  the 
plains  southward  to  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad,  or  east- 
ward to  the  temporary  terminus  of  the  Northern  Pacific, 
takes  place  in  the  summer  months. 

BITTER    ROOT    VALLEY. 

South  of  Missoula  within  rifle-shot,  is  the  entrance  to 
the  great  Hell  Gate  Caiion;  westward  across  the  angle 
formed  by  the  two  rivers  rises  the  huge,  dark  wall  of  the 
Bitter  Root  Mountains,  higher  here,  and  more  picturesque, 
than  the  main  range  of  the  Rockies,  which  are  half  con- 
cealed by  the  grassy  swells  of  the  foot-hills  on  the  east. 
Lo-Lo  Peak,  the  loftiest  and  most  individual  mountain  of 


The  Great  Northwest  205 

the  Bitter  Root  chain,  is  covered  with  snow  all  summer; 
its  altitude  must  be  about  ten  thousand  feet.  Northwest 
of  the  town  the  valley  is  broad  enough  for  cultivation  for 
a  distance  of  twenty  miles,  when  it  closes  in  at  the  canon 
of  the  Missoula  River.  A  range  for  which  there  is  not 
even  a  local  name  rims  the  valley  on  the  north.  One 
summit,  called  Skotah  Peak,  is  a  perfect  pyramid  in  form. 
This  cloud-compassed  landmark  we  shall  not  lose  sight 
of  in  three  days'  travel. 

Up  the  Bitter  Root  Valley  there  are  farms  scattered  for 
sixty  miles.  The  valley  is  warmer  than  any  other  in  West- 
ern Montana,  and  the  small  fruits  and  some  hardy  varieties 
of  apples  are  grown.  Herds  of  horses  and  cattle  feed  on 
the  slopes  of  the  mountains.  Grain  and  potatoes  are  grown 
by  irrigation,  and  the  valley  is  a  source  of  food-supply  for 
military  posts  and  mining-camps.  Hogs  are  fattened  upon 
peas  and  wheat,  and  the  flavor  of  a  Bitter  Root  ham  is 
something  altogether  unique  and  appetizing.  In  June  the 
bitter-root  plant,  from  which  the  valley  gets  its  name,  covers 
all  the  uncultivated  ground  with  its  delicate  rose-colored 
stars.  The  blossom,  about  as  large  as  a  wild  rose,  lies 
close  upon  the  earth.  The  long,  pipestem-like  root  is 
greatly  relished  by  the  Indians  for  food.  When  dried  it 
looks  like  macaroni,  and  it  is  by  no  means  unpalatable  when 
cooked  with  a  little  salt  or  butter,  or  eaten  raw.  The 
squaws  dig  it  with  long  sticks,  and  dry  it  for  winter  food. 
Another  root,  also  a  staple  in  the  aboriginal  larder,  is  the 
camas,  which  loves  moist  prairies,  where  it  flaunts  its  blue 
flowers  in  the  early  summer.  In  June,  when  the  camas 
is  ready  to  gather,  even  the  most  civilized  Indian  on  the 
Flathead  reservation  feels  the  nomadic  impulse  too  strong 
to  resist.  He  packs  his  lodge  upon  ponies,  and  starts  with 


206  The  Westward  Movement 

his  family  for  some  camas  prairie,  where  he  is  sure  to 
meet  a  numerous  company  bent  on  having  a  good  time. 

A    MONTANA   TOWN. 

The  picturesque  features  of  life  in  a  Western  Montana 
town  like  Missoula  are  best  seen  as  evening  approaches. 
Crowds  of  roughly  clad  men  gather  around  the  doors  of  the 
drinking-saloons.  A  group  of  Indians,  who  have  been 
squatting  on  the  sidewalk  for  two  hours  playing  some 
mysterious  game  of  cards  of  their  own  invention,  breaks 
up.  One  of  the  squaws  throws  the  cards  into  the  street, 
which  is  already  decorated  from  end  to  end  with  similar 
relics  of  other  games.  Another  swings  a  baby  upon  her 
back,  ties  a  shawl  around  it  and  herself,  secures  the  child 
with  a  strap  buckled  across  her  chest,  and  strides  off,  her 
moccasined  feet  toeing  inward  in  the  traditional  Indian 
fashion.  She  wears  a  gown  made  of  a  scarlet  calico  bed- 
quilt,  with  leggings  of  some  blue  stuff;  but  she  has  some- 
how managed  to  get  a  civilized  dress  for  the  child.  They 
all  go  off  to  their  camp  on  the  hill  near  by.  Some  blue- 
coated  soldiers  from  the  neighboring  military  post,  remem- 
bering the  roll-call  at  sunset,  swing  themselves  upon  their 
horses  and  go  galloping  off,  a  little  the  worse  for  the  bad 
whisky  they  have  been  drinking  in  the  saloons.  A  miner 
in  blue  woolen  shirt  and  brown  canvas  trousers,  with  a 
hat  of  astonishing  dimensions  and  a  beard  of  a  year's 
growth,  trots  up  the  street  on  a  mule,  and,  with  droll 
oaths  and  shuffling  talk,  offers  the  animal  for  sale  to  the 
crowd  of  loungers  on  the  hotel  piazza..  No  one  wants  to 
buy,  and,  after  provoking  a  deal  of  laughter,  the  miner 
gives  his  ultimatum:  "I'll  hitch  the  critter  to  one  of 
them  piazzer  posts,  and  if  he  don't  pull  it  down  you  may 


The  Great  Northwest  207 

have  him."  This  generous  offer  is  declined  by  the  land- 
lord; and  the  miner  rides  off,  declaring  that  he  has  not 
a  solitary  four-bit  piece  to  pay  for  his  supper,  and  is  bound 
to  sell  the  mule  to  somebody. 

Toward  nightfall  the  whole  male  population  seems  to 
be  in  the  street,  save  the  busy  Chinamen  in  the  laundries, 
who  keep  on  sprinkling  clothes  by  blowing  water  out  of 
their  mouths.  Early  or  late,  you  will  find  these  industrious 
little  yellow  men  at  work.  One  shuffles  back  and  forth 
from  the  hydrant,  carrying  water  for  the  morning  wash 
in  old  coal-oil  cans  hung  to  a  stick  balanced  across  his 
shoulders.  More  Indians  now  —  a  "  buck "  and  two 
squaws,  leading  ponies  heavily  laden  with  tent,  clothes  and 
buffalo  robes.  A  rope  tied  around  a  pony's  lower  jaw 
is  the  ordinary  halter  and  bridle  of  the  Indians.  These 
people  want  to  buy  some  article  at  the  saddler's  shop.  They 
do  not  go  in,  but  stare  through  the  windows  for  five 
minutes.  The  saddler,  knowing  the  Indian  way  of  deal- 
ing, pays  no  attention  to  them.  After  a  while  they  all  sit 
down  on  the  ground  in  front  of  the  shop.  Perhaps  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  passes  before  the  saddler  asks  what 
they  want.  If  he  had  noticed  them  at  first,  they  would 
have  gone  away  without  buying. 

THE    STAGE-COACH. 

Now  the  great  event  of  the  day  is  at  hand.  The  crack- 
ing of  a  whip  and  a  rattle  of  wheels  are  heard  up  the 
street:  the  stage  is  coming.  Thirty-six  hours  ago  it  left 
the  terminus  of  the  railroad  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
away.  It  is  the  connecting  link  between  the  little  isolated 
mountain  community  and  the  outside  world.  No  hand- 
some Concord  coach  appears,  but  only  a  clumsy  "  jerky  " 


208 


The  Westward  Movement 


covered  with  dust.  The  "  jerky  "  is  a  sort  of  cross  be- 
tween a  coach  proper  and  a  common  wagon.  As  an  in- 
strument of  torture  this  hideous  vehicle  has  no  equal  in 
modern  times.  The  passengers  emerge  from  its  cavernous 
interior  looking  more  dead  than  alive.  A  hundred  able- 
bodied  men,  not  one  of  them  with  a  respectable  coat  or 
a  tolerable  hat,  save  two  flashy  gamblers,  look  on  at  the 
unloading  of  the  luggage.  The  stage  goes  off  to  a  stable, 
and  the  crowd  disperses,  to  rally  again,  largely  reinforced, 
at  the  word  that  there  is  to  be  a  horse-race. 

Now  the  drinking  saloons  —  each  one  of  which  runs 
a  faro  bank  and  a  table  for  "  stud  poker  "•  —  are  lighted 
up,  and  the  gaming  and  guzzling  begin.  Every  third  build- 


Seattle  in  1879  and  in  1910. 

ing  on  the  principal  business  street  is  a  saloon.  The 
gambling  goes  on  until  daylight  without  any  effort  at  con- 
cealment. In  all  the  Montana  towns  keeping  gaming-tables 
is  treated  as  a  perfectly  legitimate  business.  Indeed,  it 
is  licensed  by  the  Territorial  laws.  Some  of  the  saloons 


The  Great  Northwest  209 

have  music,  but  this  is  a  rather  superfluous  attraction.  In 
one  a  woman  sings  popular  ballads  in  a  cracked  voice,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  a  banjo.  Women  of  a  certain  sort 
mingle  with  the  men  and  try  their  luck  at  the  tables.  Good 
order  usually  prevails,  less  probably  from  respect  for  law 
than  from  a  prudent  recognition  of  the  fact  that  every 
man  carries  a  pistol  in  his  hip-pocket,  and  a  quarrel  means 
shooting.  The  games  played  are  faro  and  "  stud  poker," 
the  latter  being  the  favorite.  It  is  a  game  in  which  "  bluff  " 
goes  farther  than  luck  or  skill.  Few  whisky  saloons  in 
Montana  are  without  a  rude  pine  table  covered  with  an 
old  blanket,  which,  with  a  pack  of  cards,  is  all  the  out- 
fit required  for  this  diversion. 

The  main  street  of  the  frontier  town,  given  up  at  night 
to  drinking  and  gambling,  by  no  means  typifies  the  whole 
life  of  the  place.  The  current  of  business  and  society, 
on  the  surface  of  which  surges  a  deal  of  mud  and  drift- 
wood, is  steady  and  decent.  There  are  churches  and 
schools  and  a  wholesome  family  life. 

A    ROCKY    MOUNTAIN    VALLEY. 

The  Jocko  Valley  is  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the  minor 
valleys  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  system.  It  was  all  a  green, 
flowery  meadow  when  I  traversed  it  in  the  month  of  June. 
Its  width  is  about  ten  miles  and  its  length  perhaps  thirty. 
Low,  wooded  mountain  ranges  surround  it.  That  on  the  east 
is  broken  by  the  main  branch  of  the  stream,  and  through  the 
rift  can  be  seen  the  main  chain  of  the  Rockies  —  a  mighty 
mass  of  crags  and  cliffs  and  snow-fields  thrust  up  among 
the  clouds.  For  thirty  miles  after  the  Jocko  joins  the 
Clark's  Fork  of  the  Columbia,  called  by  most  people  in  this 

region  the  Pend  d'Oreille  River,  the  main  river  is  bordered 
14 


21O  The  Westward  Movement 

by  narrow  green  bottoms  and  broad  stretches  of  grassy 
uplands  rising  to  the  steeper  inclines  of  fir-clad  mountains. 
Herds  of  horses  are  occasionally  seen,  and  now  and  then 
the  log  hut  of  some  thrifty  Indian  or  half-breed,  or  the 
canvas  lodge  of  a  family  that  prefers  the  discomforts  and 
freedom  of  savage  life  to  the  comforts  and  restraints  of  a 
local  habitation.  The  first  night  out  from  the  agency  was 
spent  at  the  hut  of  one  of  the  queer  characters  that  hang 
about  Indian  reservations, —  a  shiftless  white  man,  who  pays 
for  the  privilege  of  ferrying  travelers  across  the  river  by 
taking  the  Indians  over  free.  He  lives  in  a  dirty  one- 
room  hut.  In  response  to  a  suggestion  about  supper,  he 
declared  that  he  would  not  cook  for  the  Apostle  Paul  him- 
self, but  added  that  we  were  welcome  to  use  his  stove, 
and  could  take  anything  eatable  to  be  found  on  the  premises. 
His  bill  next  morning  was  seven  dollars  —  one  dollar,  he 
explained,  for  victuals  for  the  party,  and  six  for  ferriage. 
A  wagon-box  offered  a  more  inviting  place  for  a  bed  that 
night  than  the  floor  of  the  ferryman's  cabin. 

A  clay's  travel  brought  us  out  of  the  Flathead  Reserva- 
tion, and  at  the  same  time  to  the  end  of  the  wagon  road 
and  of  the  open  country.  The  road  did  not,  like  one  of 
those  western  highways  described  by  Longfellow,  end  in  a 
squirrel  track  and  run  up  a  tree,  but  it  stopped  short  at  a 
saw-mill  on  the  river's  edge,  where  a  hundred  men  were 
at  work  cutting  logs  and  sawing  bridge  timber  for  the 
railroad  advancing  up  the  gorge  eighty  miles  below. 

There  are  many  camas  prairies,  big  and  little,  in  Mon- 
tana and  Idaho,  and  they  all  resemble  each  other  in  being 
fertile  green  basins  among  the  mountains,  in  whose  moist 
soil  the  camas  plant  flourishes.  This  was,  perhaps,  fifteen 
miles  broad  by  twenty-five  long  —  all  magnificent  grazing 


The  Great  Northwest  211 

land.  We  passed  an  Indian  village  of  a  dozen  lodges,  the 
doors  of  the  tents  shaded  by  arbors  of  green  boughs,  un- 
der which  sat  the  squaws  in  their  red,  green  and  white 
blankets.  On  the  plain  fed  herds  of  horses,  and  among 
them  Indian  riders  galloped  about  seeking  the  animals  they 
wanted  to  lariat  for  the  next  day's  hunting  expedition. 

FOREST    TRACKS. 

Nor  is  the  forest  altogether  lonely.  Occasionally  a  pack- 
train  is  met,  or  a  party  of  pedestrians,  tramping  with 
blankets,  provisions  and  frying-pans  from  the  settlements 
or  railroad  camps  west  of  the  mountains  to  those  in  the 
mountain  valleys,  and  sleeping  al  fresco  wherever  night 
overtakes  them.  Rough  fellows  these,  but  good-humored, 
and  in  no  way  dangerous.  Indeed,  there  is  no  danger  in 
any  of  the  country  I  traversed  on  my  northwestern  pil- 
grimage, to  a  traveler  who  minds  his  own  business  and 
keeps  out  of  drinking  dens.  Almost  everybody  I  met  had 
a  big  pistol  strapped  to  him ;  but  I  carried  no  weapon  of 
any  kind,  and  never  once  felt  the  need  of  one. 

In  Montana  every  traveler  carries  his  bed,  whether  he 
depends  upon  hoofs  or  wheels  for  locomotion,  or  on  his 
own  legs.  Even  the  tramp  who  foots  it  over  the  prairies 
and  through  the  mountains,  pretending  to  look  for  work, 
but  really  on  a  summer  pleasure  tour,  subsisting  upon  the 
country,  has  a  pair  of  dirty  blankets  or  an  old  quilt  slung 
by  a  rope  across  his  shoulders.  The  sleeping  equipment 
of  a  traveler  who  can  afford  to  pay  some  attention  to 
comfort,  consists  of  a  buffalo  robe  and  two  pairs  of  blankets. 
With  these,  and  perhaps  a  rubber  poncho,  he  is  prepared 
to  stop  wherever  night  overtakes  him,  fortunate  if  he  has 
a  roof  over  his  head,  and  a  pine  floor  to  spread  his  buffalo 


212  The  Westward  Movement 

upon,  but  ready  to  camp  out  under  the  stars.  Along  the 
stage  roads  one  is  rarely  more  than  twenty  miles  from  a 
house  of  some  kind,  but  no  one  expects  beds.  The  ranch- 
man does  not  ask  his  guests  if  they  would  like  to  go  to 
bed ;  he  says :  "  Well,  gents,  are  you  ready  to  spread  your 
blankets?" 

A    FAR    WESTERN    TOWN. 

My  journey  next  took  me  to  Walla- Walla,  largest  and 
handsomest  of  all  the  East  Washington  towns.  Doubt- 
less the  name  of  Walla- Walla  brings  no  suggestion  to  the 
minds  of  most  readers  in  the  far-away  East,  save  of  a 
rude  frontier  settlement.  Yet  the  place  luxuriates  in 
verdure  and  bloom,  and  many  of  its  shady  streets,  bordered 
by  pretty  houses,  with  their  lawns,  orchards  and  gardens, 
would  be  admired  in  a  New  England  village,  while  the  busi- 
ness streets  would  do  no  discredit  to  an  Ohio  town  of  half 
a  century's  growth.  In  the  homes  of  well-to-do  citizens 
one  finds  the  magazines  and  new  books  and  newspapers 
from  New  York,  Boston  and  Philadelphia,  and  discovers 
that  they  manage  to  keep  abreast  of  the  ideas  of  the  time 
quite  as  well  as  intelligent  people  on  the  Atlantic  slope. 
The  town  has  five  thousand  inhabitants,  but  in  its  im- 
portance as  a  center  of  trade  and  social  influences  it  repre- 
sents an  Eastern  town  of  many  times  its  size.  There  is 
barely  a  trace  of  the  frontier  in  the  manners  of  the  people, 
and  none  at  all  in  their  comfortable  way  of  living;  yet  they 
are  thousands  of  miles  from  New  York  by  the  only  route 
of  steam  travel.  A  fairer  or  more  fertile  country  than 
that  which  stretches  south  and  east  of  Walla-Walla  to 
the  base  of  the  Blue  Mountains  one  might  travel  more 
than  five  thousand  miles  to  find.  In  June  it  is  all  one  im- 


The  Great  Northwest  213 

rnense  rolling  field  of  wheat  and  barley  dotted  at  long  in- 
tervals —  for  the  farms  are  large  —  with  neat  houses,  each 
in  its  orchard  of  apple  and  peach  trees.  The  mountains  rise 
in  gentle  slopes  to  snow-flecked  summits.  Over  the  wide 
plain  move  tall,  tawny  cloud-like  columns  of  dust,  in  size 
arid  shape  like  water-spouts  at  sea.  From  the  foot-hills 
scores  of  these  singular  formations  may  be  seen  on  any 
warm  day,  though  the  air  seems  still. 


THE  GREAT  SOUTHWEST 
BY  RAY  STANNARD  BAKER 

No  part  of  the  United  States  is  less  generally  known 
than  the  Southwest,  and  none  is  better  worth  knowing. 
Of  no  other  part  of  the  United  States  is  so  large  a  pro- 
portion of  the  unpleasant  and  unattractive  features  known 
so  well,  and  so  small  a  proportion  of  the  beauties,  wonders 
and  utilities  known  so  little.  To  the  Eastern  and  North- 
ern mind  the  Southwest  raises  a  dim  picture  of  hot  desert, 
bare  mountain,  and  monotonous  plain  sparsely  grown  up  to 
cactus,  sage,  greasewood,  or  bunch-grass,  and  sown  with 
the  white  bones  of  animals  which  have  perished  from 
hunger  and  thirst;  a  land  of  wild  Indians,  of  lazy  Mexicans, 
of  rough  cow-boys,  of  roving,  half -wild  cattle,  of  desperate 
mining  ventures,  of  frequent  train-robberies.  This  im- 
pression is  based  in  part  on  the  stray  paragraphs  from  this 
unknown  land  that  occasionally  creep  into  the  metropolitan 
newspapers,  but  it  is  chiefly  founded  upon  the  hasty  ob- 
servations and  reports  of  dusty  transcontinental  travelers, 
car-weary  for  three  or  four  days,  the  edge  of  their  inter- 
est quite  blunted  with  longing  for  the  green  wonders  and 
soft  sunshine  of  California. 

What  is  generally  known  as  the  Southwest  may  be  said 
to  comprise  all  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico,  the  greater 
portion  of  Texas,  perhaps  best  described  as  arid  Texas, 
southern  California  east  of  the  Coast  Range,  and  the  west- 
ern half  of  Oklahoma,  including  the  "  Strip."  Eastern 

214 


The  Great  Southwest  215 

Texas,  with  its  plentiful  rainfall,  its  forests,  and  its  fine 
plantations  of  cotton  and  corn,  is  quite  a  different  country 
from  western  Texas,  and  must  be  classed  with  the  South. 
In  extent  of  territory  the  Southwest  is  an  empire  more 
than  twice  as  large  as  Germany,  and  greater  in  area  than 
the  thirteen  original  States  of  the  American  Union.  Its 
population  is  sparse  and  occupied  almost  exclusively  in 
cattle-  and  sheep-raising,  mining,  and  irrigation-farming, 
with  a  limited  amount  of  lumbering.  All  its  vast  territory 
contains  only  a  little  more  than  half  as  many  inhabitants 
as  the  city  of  Chicago.  Its  largest  city,  on  the  extreme 
eastern  edge  of  the  arid  land,  is  San  Antonio,  Texas.  All 
of  its  other  cities  are  much  smaller.  It  is  traversed  east 
and  west  by  two,  in  Texas  three,  great  railroads,  running 
generally  parallel,  having  many  branches,  and  connected 
by  several  cross-cuts  running  north  and  south. 

It  is  a  land  of  amazing  contrasts.  It  is  both  the  oldest 
and  the  newest  part  of  the  United  States  —  oldest  in  his- 
tory and  newest  in  Anglo-Saxon  enterprise.  Long  before 
the  Cavaliers  set  foot  in  Virginia  or  the  first  Pilgrims 
landed  in  Plymouth,  even  before  St.  Augustine  in  Florida 
was  founded,  the  Spaniards  had  explored  a  considerable 
proportion  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and  the  settle- 
ments made  soon  afterward  at  Santa  Fe  and  near  Tucson 
were  among  the  earliest  on  the  American  continent.  In- 
deed, for  many  years  the  region  was  better  known  to  white 
men  than  New  England.  Yet  to-day  there  is  no  part  of 
the  United  States  so  little  explored,  many  places,  especially 
in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  being  wholly  unsurveyed. 
Probably  the  least-known  spot  in  the  country  is  the  mys- 
terious wilderness,  nearly  as  large  as  Switzerland,  which 
lies  in  the  northwestern  corner  of  Arizona  beyond  the  Colo- 


216  The  Westward  Movement 

rado  River.  It  is  bounded  on  the  south  and  east  by  the 
stupendous  and  almost  impassable  chasm  of  the  Grand 
Canon,  and  on  its  other  .sides  by  difficult  mountains  and 
little-explored  deserts.  Here,  in  this  long-known  land,  if 
anywhere  on  the  continent,  can  be  found  the  primeval 
wilderness  of  nature. 

Though  the  Great  Southwest  is  now  the  most  sparsely 
inhabited  region  of  its  size  in  the  United  States,  it  was  once 
the  most  populous  and  wealthy,  probably  more  populous 
than  it  is  to-day,  with  all  its  present  American  enterprise. 
Hundreds  of  years  before  the  Spaniards  first  appeared  in 
the  New  World,  the  valleys  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico 
contained  a  numerous  population,  supporting  considerable 
cities,  and  irrigating  extensive  tracts  of  land  with  wonderful 
engineering  skill.  Frank  H.  Gushing,  the  anthropologist, 
who  in  1882-83  wrote  of  the  ruins  of  the  Southwest,  esti- 
mated that  the  irrigated  valleys  of  Arizona  were  once  the 
dwelling-place  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people, 
about  twice  the  population  of  the  entire  Territory  then. 
The  remains  of  these  ancient  civilizations  —  the  pueblo- 
dwellers,  the  cliff-  and  cave-dwellers  —  are  found  scattered 
everywhere  throughout  Arizona  and  New  Mexico,  and  in 
such  numbers  that  archaeologists  have  only  begun  to  ex- 
plore them. 

No  part  of  the  United  States,  indeed,  has  had  a  more 
thrilling  and  eventful  history.  While  denominated  a  des- 
ert "  not  worth  good  blood, "--in  the  words  of  the  his- 
torian,—  it  has  been  a  center  of  contention  for  centuries, 
overwhelmed  by  one  tide  of  conquest  after  another.  From 
the  time  that  the  Spaniards  first  invaded  the  country,  hunt- 
ing for  gold,  down  to  the  capture  of  Geronimo  by  American 
soldiers  in  the  eighties,  it  has  been  the  scene  of  many  bloody 


The  Great  Southwest  217 

Indian  wars.  It  was  the  source  of  contention  between  the 
United  States  and  Mexico  in  the  war  of  1846-48.  Once  a 
possession  of  Spain,  and  later  of  Mexico,  the  story  of  the 
struggle  for  independence  by  the  Texans  and  for  annexation 
by  the  Calif ornians  is  full  of  fascinating  interest.  Its  soil 
has  developed  some  of  the  boldest  and  most  picturesque 
characters  in  American  history  —  Boone,  Crockett,  Kit  Car- 


Mummy  cave,  Canon  del  Muerto,  Arizona. 

son,  Sam  Houston,  and  many  a  pioneer  cattleman  and  set- 
tler, to  say  nothing  of  the  Crooks  and  the  Lawtons  of  the 
Indian  wars.  The  main  trail  of  the  El  Dorado  hunters  of 
'49  on  their  way  to  California  let  through  it,  garnishing  its 
history  with  many  a  story  of  bloodshed  and  hardship.  No 
American  fiction  is  more  vital  and  characteristic  than  that 
which  deals  with  the  early  lawless  days  of  the  miner,  the 
buffalo-hunter,  and  the  cow-boy;  none  is  more  richly  col- 
ored, picturesque,  or  rudely  powerful. 

In  its  material  aspects  it  is  equally  full  of  contrasts. 
Here  are  the  greatest  deserts  and  waste  places  in  America, 
and  side  by  side  with  them,  often  with  no  more  than  a  few 


218  The  Westward  Movement 

strands  of  barbed  wire  to  mark  the  division-line,  are  the 
richest  farming-lands  in  America,  lands  more  fertile,  even, 
than  the  famed  corn-fields  of  Illinois  or  the  fruit-orchards 
of  Michigan.  The  Southwest  has  been  denominated,  with 
reason,  the  treeless  land,  and  yet  it  contains  to-day  the  larg- 
est unbroken  stretches  of  forest  in  the  co'intry,  there  being 
nothing  to  equal  the  timber-lands  of  the  Colorado  plateau 
in  northern  and  central  Arizona.  No  part  of  the  United 
States  possesses  such  an  extent  of  grass-plain,  Texas  being 
the  greatest  of  the  plain  States,  and  yet  none  has  grander 
mountains.  Only  three  States  have  higher  peaks  than  the 
noble  Sierra  Blanca  of  New  Mexico,  fourteen  thousand 
two  hundred  and  sixty-nine  feet  in  altitude,  and  there  are 
few  more  magnificent  elevations  than  San  Francisco  Moun- 
tain in  Arizona. 

Though  the  region,  to  the  hurried  railroad  traveler,  seems 
barren  and  desolate  almost  beyond  comparison,  it  is  yet 
richer  in  variety,  if  not  in  luxury,  of  vegetation  than  any 
other  part  of  the  country.  Professor  Merriam  found  many 
arctic  types  in  the  flora  of  the  upper  regions  of  the 
San  Francisco  Mountain.  Within  a  radius  of  a  few  hun- 
dred miles  grow  the  pines  and  firs  found  in  northern  Can- 
ada, and  the  figs  and  dates  of  the  African  semi-tropics; 
Southern  oranges  and  olives  grow  side  by  side  with  North- 
ern wheat;  the  cactus  and  the  fir  are  often  found  within 
sight  of  each  other.  Nowhere  are  there  so  many  strange 
and  marvelous  forms  of  life  as  here  —  of  flowers,  multi- 
tudinous cacti  and  the  palms;  of  animals,  the  Gila  monster, 
the  horned  toad,  the  hydrophobia  skunk,  and  many  other 
unique  species.  Besides  the  monotonous  desert,  with  its 
apparent  lack  of  interest  to  the  traveler,  the  region  con- 
tains the  greatest  natural  wonder  on  the  continent  —  the 


The  Great  Southwest  219 

Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado  River.  It  also  possesses 
unnumbered  other  natural  phenomena  and  some  of  the 
grandest  mountain  and  forest  scenery.  With  all  its  lack  of 
rain,  it  is  watered  by  two  of  the  great  rivers  of  the  conti- 
nent —  the  Colorado  and  the  Rio  Grande. 

In  its  human  life  it  is  equally  prolific  in  diversities.  In 
few  other  places  in  the  world  is  there  such  a  commingling 
of  dissimilar  human  elements.  I  doubt  if  even  the  cities 
of  the  Orient  can  present  such  contrasts  of  wholly  unre- 
lated races  of  people,  as  well  as  so  great  a  variety  of  the 
white  race.  Here,  in  one  small  town,  one  may  find  repre- 
sentatives of  several  different  tribes  of  the  aboriginal  In- 
dians, in  every  state  of  civilization  and  savagery,  pictur- 
esquely attired  in  bright-colored  costumes,  bearing  their 
peculiar  baskets  and  pottery.  Here,  also,  is  the  next  higher 
stratum,  the  Mexicans,  in  great  numbers,  and  in  all  mix- 
tures of  blood  from  the  nearly  pure  Indian  peon  upward. 
Here  are  African  Negroes  in  considerable  numbers,  emi- 
grants from  the  Southern  States,  and  every  town  has  its 
Chinese  and  usually  its  Japanese  contingent,  the  overflow 
from  California.  Above  all  these,  and  in  greatly  superior 
numbers,  rises  the  white  man,  usually  American  by  birth, 
and  yet  generously  intermixed  with  many  of  European 
nationalities.  In  most  of  the  older  towns,  such  as  San  An- 
tonio in  Texas  and  Tucson  in  Arizona,  whole  neighborhoods 
appear  more  foreign  than  American,  presenting  strange 
contrasts  between  modern  store-buildings,  banks,  and 
churches,  and  ancient  weather-worn  adobe  houses  where 
the  Mexicans  live  almost  as  primitively  as  did  their  fore- 
fathers a  century  ago. 

The  peopling  of  the  country  makes  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting and  significant  stories  in  the  history  of  the  na- 


22O  The  Westward  Movement 

tion.  For  many  years  it  was  the  unknown  land,  the  land 
of  possibilities  and  wonders,  as  well  as  of  danger  and 
death.  Therefore  it  attracted  the  hardy  pioneer,  and  here, 
for  lack  of  any  other  frontier  on  the  continent,  the  pioneer, 
though  with  the  germ  of  westward  ho!  still  lingering  in 
his  blood,  has  been  compelled  at  last  to  settle  down.  I 
shall  not  soon  forget  the  sorrowful  desert-dweller  whom  I 
met  in  what  seemed  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  Arizona. 
His  nearest  neighbor  was  fifteen  miles  away,  his  post-office 
twenty-five  miles,  and  yet  he  was  bemoaning  the  fact  that 
the  country  was  becoming  crowded.  "If  there  were  any 
more  frontier,"  he  said,  "  I  'd  go  to  it." 

It  is  hardy  blood,  that  of  the  pioneer,  good  stock  on  which 
to  found  the  development  of  a  country.  For  years  the 
West  has  been  the  lodestone  for  those  adventurous  spirits 
who  love  the  outdoor  and  exciting  life  of  the  mining  pros- 
pector, the  cow-boy,  the  hunter  —  a  healthy,  rugged  lot, 
virtually  all  pure  Americans.  The  Rough  Riders  sprang 
from  this  element  But  probably  the  most  distinct  single 
human  invasion  of  the  Southwest  was  made  by  the  irrec- 
oncilables  of  the  Confederate  Army  after  the  Civil  War. 
They  could  not  endure  the  Federal  domination  of  the  re- 
construction period,  or  else  they  had  lost  all  their  property, 
and  with  it  their  hope  of  rising  again  in  their  old  neighbor- 
hood, and  so  they  set  westward,  remaining,  as  immigrants 
usually  do,  in  the  same  latitude .  as  that  from  which  they 
came.  Texas,  New  Mexico,  and  Arizona  all  have  a  strong 
substratum  of  the  Old  South,  still  possessing  many  of  the 
bitternesses  left  by  the  great  conflict,  and  yet  rising  with 
the  opportunities  of  the  new  land,  and  adding  to  its  devel- 
opment peculiar  pride,  dignity  and  often  culture.  Owing 
to  its  wildernesses  and  its  contiguity  to  Mexico,  the  South- 


The  Great  Southwest  221 

west  was  also  for  many  years  the  refuge  of  outlaws  from 
all  parts  of  the  country  —  an  element  which,  though  small, 
was  so  perniciously  active  that  -it  earned  an  undue  promi- 
nence in  fiction  and  contemporary  literature,  giving  the 
country  a  complexion  of  evil  which  it  did  not  deserve. 
This  element  still  effervesces  in  a  train-robbery,  but  its 
effect  on  the  Southwest  has  been  inconsequential. 

All  these  earlier  sources  of  population,  however,  were 
small  compared  with  the  great  inundation  of  the  last  few 
years,  following  the  extension  of  the  railroads,  the  crowd- 
ing of  other  parts  of  the  country,  and  the  hard  times  of 
1893,  which,  causing  discontent  among  many  Easterners 
and  Northerners,  tempted  them  to  try  new  fields  of  enter- 
prise. There  are  virtually  no  native-born  Anglo-Saxons 
of  voting  age  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  —  at  least,  they 
are  so  few  as  to  be  a  wonder  and  a  pride.  In  Texas  there 
are  many,  for  the  changes  in  that  part  of  the  Southwest 
are  a  step  older  and  possibly  not  quite  so  rapid,  although 
Texas,  too,  is  overrun  with  people  from  every  part  of  the 
country.  It  is  safe  to  ask  any  middle-aged  man  what  part 
of  the  East  he  is  from.  Of  this  later  influx  of  population 
there  are  representatives  from  every  part  of  the  United 
States,  with  a  specially  large  number  from  Kansas,  Ne- 
braska, the  Dakotas,  and  Missouri  —  the  Middle  West. 
In  many  cases  these  settlers  had  first  immigrated  to  the 
States  just  beyond  the  Mississippi,  and  had  there  taken  up 
farms ;  but  uncertain  rain  and  crop- failures  drove  them 
onward  to  the  irrigated  valleys  of  the  region,  and  there 
they  are  to-day. 

Up  to  this  point  the  population  consisted  of  the  strongest 
and  most  enterprising  American  manhood,  for  the  weak- 
lings do  not  undertake  the  chances  and  hardships  of  pioneer- 


222  The  Westward  Movement 

ing.  With  this  drift  of  population,  however,  there  has  ap- 
peared a  large  number  of  invalids,  mostly  with  pulmonary 
complaints,  from  every  part  of  America.  Many  of  them 
have  been  promptly  cured,  and  have  engaged  in  business 
or  taken  up  farms  in  the  valleys  or  ranches  on  the  plains. 
A  considerable  proportion  of  them  are  people  of  education, 
culture,  refinement  and  often  of  wealth.  Much  of  the 
money  of  the  region,  as  in  Southern  California,  has  been 
brought  in  and  invested  by  health-seekers.  This  class  has 
added  much  to  the  social  and  religious  development,  and  it 
includes  some  of  the  leading  spirits  in  politics.  As  yet 
there  has  been  very  little  immigration  of  Italians,  Russians, 
or  the  lower  class  of  Irish,  most  of  whom  are  by  prefer- 
ence city-dwellers. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the  Southwest  is  peopled 
with  the  very  best  Americans,  segregated  by  the  eternal  law 
of  .evolutionary  selection,  with  almost  no  substratum  of  the 
low-caste  European  foreigner  to  lower  the  level  of  civili- 
zation. With  such  a  start,  and  such  a  commingling  of 
Americans  from  all  parts  of  the  Union,  the  man  from  Bos- 
ton rubbing  elbows  with  the  Atlanta  man,  and  Kansas 
working  side  by  side  with  Mississippi,  it  would  seem  that, 
the  region  may  one  day  produce  the  standard  American 
type.  It  has  already  manifested  its  capacity  for  type-pro- 
duction in  the  cow-boy,  now  being  rapidly  merged  in  the 
new  Southwesterner,  a  type  as  distinct  and  as  uniquely 
American  as  the  New  England  Yankee  or  the  Virgini? 
colonel. 


THE  DESERT 
BY  RAY  STANNARD  BAKER 

To  science  there  is  no  poison;  to  botany  no  weed;  to  chemistry 
no  dirt.  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

After  all,  there  is  no  desert.  Within  the  memory  of 
comparatively  young  men  a  third  of  the  territory  of  the 
United  States  beyond  the  Mississippi  bore  the  name  of  the 
"  Great  American  Desert."  It  was  a  region  vast  beyond 
accurate  human  conception,  in  extent  as  great  as  half  of 
Europe,  midribbed  with  the  stupendous,  shaggy  bulk  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  from  which  it  descended  in  both  direc- 
tions in  illimitable  rolling  plains  and  rugged  mesas,  rising 
here  to  the  height  of  snow-crowned  mountains,  and  falling 
there  to  the  ancient  salty  beds  of  lost  seas,  lower  than  the 
level  of  the  ocean.  It  was  rutted  by  chasms  and  washes, 
the  channels  of  rivers  that  thundered  with  a  passion  of 
water  for  a  single  month  in  the  year,  and  were  ash-dry  for 
the  other  eleven.  Some  stretched  eastward  toward  the 
Mississippi,  some  southward  toward  the  Gulf,  and  some 
westward  toward  the  Pacific.  It  was  an  empire  of  wild 
grandeur,  of  majestic  heights  and  appalling  depths,  of  si- 
lent waste  places,  of  barbaric  beauty  of  coloring,  of  vol- 
canoes and  the  titanic  work  of  volcanoes,  of  fierce  wild 
beasts  and  wilder  men;  but  it  was  a  desert.  Here,  for 
months  at  a  time,  no  rain  came  to  moisten  the  parched 

223 


224  The  Westward  Movement 

earth,  and  there  were  few  clouds  to  obscure  the  heat  of  a 
blazing  sun.  The  earth  became  dust  and  ashes,  all  but  un- 
inhabited and  impassable,  here  grown  up  to  cactus  and 
greasewood  and  sage,  here  to  gray  grass,  here  to  nothing  — 
a  place  where  animals  dropped  in  their  tracks  from  heat 
and  thirst,  and  shriveled  there,  undecaying,  until  their  rag- 
ged hides  crumpled  like  parchment  over  their  gaunt 
skeletons.  Many  a  pioneer  bound  for  the  El  Dorado  of 
California  felt  the  tooth  of  the  desert,  and  left  his  bones 
to  whiten  on  the  trail  as  a  dreadful  evidence  of  the  rigor 
of  these  waste  places.  This  was  the  Great  American  Des- 
ert, the  irreclaimable  waste  of  fifty  years  ago,  the  dread- 
spot  of  the  continent.  To-day  you  may  seek  it  in  vain. 

When  reduced  to  its  essence,  the  work  of  every  great 
explorer  and  pioneer  in  the  West  has  consisted  in  showing 
that  the  desert  was  no  desert.  It  was  a  cramped  and  men- 
dicant imagination  and  a  weak  faith  in  humanity  that  first 
called  it  a  desert,  and  it  has  required  the  life  of  many  a 
bold  man  to  dispel  that  error.  The  pioneer  cow-man  came 
in  and  saw  the  dry  bunch-grass  of  the  plains.  '  This  is  no 
desert,"  he  said ;  "  this  is  pasture-land,"  and  straightway 
thirty  million  cattle  were  feeding  on  the  ranges.  A  colony 
of  Mormons,  driven  to  the  wilderness  by  persecution,  saw, 
with  the  faith  of  a  Moses,  green  fields  blooming  where  the 
cactus  grew,  and  in  a  few  years  a  great  city  had  risen  in 
the  midst  of  a  fertile  valley,  and  a  new  commonwealth  had 
been  born.  A  Powell  came  and  disclosed  the  possibilities 
of  the  desert  when  watered  from  rivers  that  had  long  run 
to  waste,  and  a  hundred  valleys  began  to  bloom,  and  mil- 
lions of  acres  of  barren  desert  to  grow  the  richest  crops  on 
the  continent.  Miners  came,  found  gold  and  silver  and 
copper  in  the  hills,  and  built  a  thousand  camps;  the  rail- 


The  Desert  225 

roads  divided  the  great  desert  with  a  maze  of  steel  trails 
until  it  was  a  veritable  patchwork  of  civilization;  and  timid 
tourists  came  and  camped,  and  went  away  better  and  braver. 
To-day  several  million  Americans  are  living  in  the  desert, 
not  temporarily,  while  they  rob  it  of  riches,  but  for  all 
time,  and  they  love  their  homes  as  passionately  as  any 
dwellers  in  the  green  hills  of  New  England. 

A  traveler  in  the  West  must  go  far  indeed  before  he  find 
a  place  where  he  can  say,  "  This  is  a  worthless  and  irre- 
claimable waste,  the  true  desert."  There  is  no  faith  left  in 
him  who  speaks  of  waste  places.  I  stand  in  the  gray  sand ; 
nothing  but  sand  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach  —  sand,  a  few  sentinel  yuccas,  a  sprawling  mesquit- 
bush,  with  a  gopher  darting  underneath,  and  a  cholla  cac- 
tus, gray  with  dust.  Here,  I  say,  is  the  waste  place  of  all 
the  ages;  no  man  ever  has  set  foot  here  before,  and  it  is 
likely  that  no  man  ever  will  again.  But  what  is  that  sound 
—  click,  click,  click  —  that  comes  from  the  distance  ?  It 
is  no  kin  to  the  noises  of  the  desert.  Climb  the  ridge  there, 
the  one  that  trembles  with  heat;  take  it  slowly,  for  the  sun 
is  blinding  hot,  and  the  dry  air  cracks  one's  lips.  Have  a 
care  of  that  tall  sahuaro;  it  has  been  growing  there  undis- 
turbed for  two  centuries,  and  it  is  not  less  prickly  for  its 
age.  And  in  all  its  years  it  never  has  seen  a  vision  such  as 
it  now  beholds;  for  here  are  men  come  to  the  desert,  pain- 
fully dragging  water  with  them  in  carts  and  barrels.  They 
have  put  up  machinery  in  this  silent  place,  having  faith  that 
there  is  oil  a  thousand  feet  below  in  the  rock;  and  so  they 
come  in  the  heat  and  dust  to  prove  their  faith.  You  hear 
the  click,  click  of  their  machinery;  it  is  the  triumphant 
song  of  an  indomitable,  conquering  humanity. 

Go  over  the  next  ridge,  or  perhaps  the  one  beyond  that, 


226 


The  Westward  Movement 


and  you  will  see  a  still  stranger  sight  —  a  great,  black,  an- 
gular dredge,  a  one-armed  iron  giant  scooping  up  the  sand 
tons  at  a  time,  in  his  huge  palm,  weighing  it  in  the  air,  and 
then,  with  outcrooking  elbow,  majestically  dropping  it  upon 
the  desert.  There  is  a  little  black  engine  behind  burning 
mesquit-wood,  and  a  silent,  grimy  man  chewing  tobacco 
and  grumbling  at  the  heat.  They  entered  the  desert  forty 
miles  away  at  the  bank  of  a  great  river,  and  they  have  bur- 
rowed their  way  through  the  sand,  with  the  water  follow- 
ing in  a  broad  brown  band. 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  the  man,  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice; 
"this  canal  will  irrigate  half  a  million  acres  of  land  in  this 
desert.  In  ten  years  there  will  be  a  hundred  thousand 
people  settled  here.  You  see  that  mesquit-tree  over  there? 
Well,  that  's 

where  we  're  go- 
ing to  locate  the 
city.  The  rail- 
road will  come  in 
along  that  ridge 
and  cross  over 
near  those  chol- 
las."  ...  So 
you  may  go  from 
ridge  to  ridge 
through  all  the 
great  desert,  and 
may  find  miners 
delving  in  the  dry 
earth  for  gold ; 
see  herders  set- 
ting up  windmills ;  view  among  the  cacti> 


The  Desert  227 

see  farmers  boring  holes  for  artesian  wells;  see  miners  of 
wood  digging  in  the  sand  for  the  fat  roots  of  the  mesquit; 
see  irrigation  engineers  making  canal-levels,  and  railroad 
contractors  spinning  their  threads  of  steel  where  no  man 
dreamed  of  living.  And  you  will  feel  as  you  never  have 
felt  before,  and  your  heart  will  throb  with  the  pride  of  it 
—  this  splendid  human  energy  and  patience  and  determina- 
tion. Here  men  separate  themselves  from  their  homes, 
from  the  society  of  women;  they  suffer  thirst  and  hard- 
ship; they  die  here  in  the  desert,  but  they  bring  in  civili- 
zation. And  the  crying  wonder  of  it  all  is  that  these  are 
ordinary  men,  good  and  evil,  weak  and  strong,  who  have 
no  idea  that  they  are  heroic;  who  would  laugh  at  the  sug- 
gestion that  they  are  more  than  earning  a  living,  making  a 
little  money  for  themselves,  and  hoping  to  make  more  in 
the  future.  Yes,  the  time  has  come  when  humanity  will 
not  tolerate  deserts. 

Yet,  judging  by  the  limited  vision  of  the  individual  man, 
there  are  still  desert  places  in  the  West.  A  man  is  so 
small  and  weak,  and  his  physical  wants,  his  need  of  water 
and  food  and  a  resting-place,  are  so  incessant  and  com- 
manding, that  he  can  see  only  a  little  way  around  him  and 
creep  only  a  few  miles  in  a  day.  If  he  know  not  the  des- 
ert, he  may  be  lost  within  half  a  dozen  miles  of  a  ranch 
or  within  a  hundred  yards  of  a  spring,  and  die  there  of 
thirst. 

To  him,  in  such  cases,  it  is  all  as  much  of  a  desert  and 
quite  as  dangerous  as  if  there  were  not  a  human  habitation 
within  a  thousand  miles.  But  to  the  man  who  is  reason- 
ably schooled  in  the  wisdom  of  trails  and  the  signs  of  water, 
the  desert  has  been  robbed  of  nearly  all  its  terrors.  With 
proper  care  and  preparation  he  may  go  anywhere  without 


228  The  Westward  Movement 

fear,  although  frequently  not  without  acute  discomfort  and 
even  suffering. 

The  desert  still  maintains  its  fastnesses  in  the  West. 
There  are  some  spots  better  entitled  to  the  name  than  others, 
but  each  year  these  fastnesses  are  shrinking  before  the 
advance  of  human  enterprise,  as  the  water  might  rise  over 
the  land,  leaving  the  high  and  difficult  places  to  the  last. 
So  these  islands  are  scattered  through  several  States  and 
Territories,  mostly  in  Arizona,  New  Mexico,  California, 
Nevada,  Utah  and  Oregon,  in  the  great  valley  lying  be- 
tween the  main  ridge  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  on  the  east, 
and  the  Cascades,  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the  Coast  Range  on 
the  west.  Chief  among  them  are  the  Mohave  Desert,  in 
southeastern  California,  a  territory  as  large  as  Switzer- 
land ;  the  Colorado  and  Gila  deserts  of  southwestern  Ari- 
zona and  Southern  California;  the  marvelous  Painted  Des- 
ert of  northeastern  Arizona ;  and  the  Great  Salt  Lake  Des- 
ert of  Utah.  Opening  northward  from  the  Mohave  Desert 
lies  Death  Valley,  perhaps  the  most  desolate  and  forbidding 
spot  in  America,  though  comparatively  small  in  extent. 
Yet  there  are  few  places  even  in  these  desert  strongholds 
that  are  wholly  without  life  of  one  sort  or  another,  and  a 
large  proportion  of  them  could  be  reclaimed,  if  water  were 
available.  Even  as  it  is,  not  one  can  bar  human  activity; 
railroads  have  been  built  directly  across  three  of  the  worst 
of  them ;  mines  are  being  opened,  and  oil-wells  driven ;  land 
is  being  reclaimed  by  irrigation ;  and  even  in  the  fastnesses 
of  Death  Valley  there  are  many  mining-camps  and  an  ex- 
tensive borax  industry.  In  all  the  West,  look  as  you  will, 
you  will  find  no  desert  more  pitifully  forlorn,  more  de- 
serted, more  irreclaimable,  and  more  worthless  than  the 
man-made  deserts  of  northern  Wisconsin  and  Michigan, 


The  Desert  229 

where  fire  has  followed  the  heedless  lumberman  and  spread 
a  black  and  littered  waste  thousands  of  square  miles  in  ex- 
tent, where  once  grew  a  splendid  green  forest  of  pine. 
One  is  beautiful  with  the  perfected  grandeur  into  which 
nature  molds  even  the  most  unpromising  material ;  the  other 
is  hideous,  grotesque,  pitiful,  a  reminder  of  the  reckless 
wastefulness  of  man. 

The  natural  desert,  indeed,  abounds  in  a  strange  and  be- 
guiling beauty  of  its  own  that  lays  hold  upon  a  man's  spirit, 
perhaps  rudely  at  first,  yet  with  a  growing  fascination  that, 
once  deeply  felt,  forever  calls  and  calls  the  wanderer  home 
again.  In  the  spell  that  it  weaves  over  a  man,  it  is  like  the 
sea:  the  love  of  the  sailor  for  his  life  is  not  more  faithful 
than  that  of  those  bronzed,  silent  riders  of  the  desert  for 
the  long  hot  stretches  of  their  open  land. 

Water  is  the  key  to  the  desert.  All  the  life  of  the  desert 
rests  upon  its  power  of  resistance  to  thirst.  One  marvels 
at  the  consummate  ingenuity  with  which  nature  has  im- 
proved her  scant  opportunities,  turning  every  capability 
to  the  conservation  of  such  little  water  as  there  is.  Every- 
thing in  the  desert  has  its  own  story  of  economy,  patience, 
and  stubborn  persistency  in  the  face  of  adversity.  There- 
fore the  individuality  of  desert  life  is  strong;  it  is  different 
from  all  other  life.  Its  necessities  have  wrought  peculiar 
forms  both  of  plants  and  of  animals,  and  in  time  the  desert 
also  leaves  its  indelible  marks  upon  the  men  who  dwell  in 
its  wastes. 

Everywhere  there  are  evidences  of  the  terrible  struggle 
for  water  —  a  struggle  in  which  men  who  come  to  the  desert 
must  instantly  engage :  every  wagon  that  crosses  the  desert 
carries  its  barrel  of  water;  every  man  who  sets  out  takes 
with  him  a  canteen;  every  ranch  has  its  windmill  and  its 


230  The  Westward  Movement 

water-barrel.  Water  is  the  only  thing  that  is  not  free. 
Stop  at  a  desert  well,  and  a  sign  offers  water  at  ten  cents 
or  five  cents  a  head  for  your  horses. 

Color,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  great  joys  of  the  desert,  and 
one  who  has  learned  to  love  these  silent  places  finds  unend- 
ing pleasure  in  the  changing  lights  and  shades,  many  of 
them  marvelously  delicate  and  beautiful. 

Who  can  convey  the  feeling  of  the  mysterious  night  on 
the  desert,  suddenly  and  sweetly  cool  after  the  burning  heat 
of  the  day,  the  sky  a  deep,  clear  blue  above  —  nowhere  so 
blue  as  in  this  dry,  pure  air  —  the  stars  almost  crowding 
down  to  earth  in  their  nearness  and  brilliancy,  a  deep  and 
profound  silence  round  about,  broken  occasionally  by  the 
far-off  echoing  scream  of  some  prowling  coyote  or  the  hoot 
of  an  owl?  The  horses  loom  big  and  dark  where  they 
feed  in  the  near  distance;  here  and  there  on  the  top  of  a 
dry  yucca-stalk  an  owl  or  a  havvk  sits  outlined  in  black 
against  the  sky ;  otherwise  there  is  nothing  anywhere  to 
break  the  long,  smooth  line  of  the  horizon. 

It  is  good  to  feel  that,  in  spite  of  human  enterprise,  there 
is  plenty  of  desert  left  for  many  years  to  come,  a  place 
where  men  can  go  and  have  it  out  with  themselves,  where 
they  can  breathe  clean  air  and  get  down  close  to  the  great, 
quiet,  simple  life  of  the  earth.  "  Few  in  these  hot,  dim, 
frictiony  times,"  says  John  Muir,  "  are  quite  sane  or  free ; 
choked  with  care  like  clocks  full  of  dust,  laboriously  doing 
so  much  good  and  making  so  much  money  —  or  so  little  - 
they  are  no  longer  good  themselves."  But  here  in  the  desert 
there  yet  remain  places  of  wildness  and  solitude  and  quiet ; 
there  is  room  here  to  turn  without  rubbing  elbows,  places 
where  one  may  yet  find  refreshment. 


i 


INDEX 


Across  the  Continent,  43-45,  103- 
118,  119-139- 

Beginnings      of      the      Westward 

Movement,  3-13. 
Bill  Williams,  151-154. 
Blue  Ridge  Pioneers,  18. 
Boone,  Daniel,  7,  8,  42-43,  69-81. 

Buffaloes,  106,  no,  112,  140. 
California,   103,  124,  138,  139,  148, 

175-191,  192-198. 
Clarke,  George  Rogers,  61-68. 

Desert,   116,  223-230. 
Down-stream  Movement,  14-31. 

Early  Western  Character,   14,  15; 

see  also  "  Pioneer." 
Early  Western   Steamboating,  56- 

60. 

First  Western  Railway,  44-45. 
First    Westbound    American,    19- 

20. 

Fremont  Expeditions,  140-162. 
First  Emigrant  Train,  119-139. 
Further  West,  199-201. 
Fur-trade,  36,  37. 

Gold,  Discovery  of  in  California, 

I75-I9I. 
Gold,  mining  of,  192-198. 

Illinois,  67,  80,   127,   130,  134;   see 

also  "  Pioneer  Boyhood." 
Kentucky,  75-81,  85-87. 
Kit  Carson,  140,  146,  163-174. 

Land -looker,  94-98. 


Marshall,  Jas.  W.,  178-191. 
Mining;  see  Gold. 
Mississippi  River,  26. 
Montana,  206,  207. 

Northwest,  61-68,   199-213. 

Pack-trains,  41. 
Pioneer  Boyhood,  88-102. 
Pioneer  Christmas,  100. 
Pioneer  Farming,  82-84. 
Pioneer  Life,  85-87. 
Pioneer  Mining,  192-198. 
Pioneer  School  Life,  98-100. 
Plains,     103-118;     see    also    First 

Emigrant  Train. 
Pony  Express,  46-55. 
Prairie  Schooner,  41. 

River  Life,  59,  60;  see  also  "Up- 
stream Man  "  and  "  Down- 
stream Man." 

San    Francisco,  48,    118;    see   also 
School-life,  918-100,  California. 
Southwest,   The   Great,    214-222. 
Stage-coach,  207-208. 
Steamboating,  56-60. 

Up-stream  Man,  32-43. 

Wagon-trains,  42,  43. 
Westward  Movement : 

Beginnings,  3-13. 

Colonial  Times,  5. 

First  Transportation,  16. 

Kentucky,  6,  7. 

Northwest  Territory,  9,  10. 

Ohio,  n,  12,  13. 

South,  19. 
Wilderness  Road,  Boone's,  42-43. 


231 


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GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

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